


Ten Days in Paradise

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Memory Loss, Missions, Porn, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Michael tried to explain: "The last thing I remember was the mission to Cantara III.""But...that was two years ago," Tilly said, with growing alarm. "We were still on theDiscovery. You two weren't—" She looked to Pike, horrified, like she finally understood. Then she turned back to Michael. "You lost two years?"





	Ten Days in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Writing something with a plot was an ill-advised notion, ffs I can write 10k of these two staring at each other. Never let me do this again. 
> 
> Set after 2.11 "Perpetual Infinity." Medical anything is from wiki, let's pretend it works. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1028530.html).

Pleasure pulled Michael from sleep, clever fingers between her legs, sending heat spiraling through her, a warm body curled around her from behind. A low voice rumbled in her ear, "Not that I don't appreciate you shoving me down and riding me within an inch of my life, but I never got an answer to my question." It was teasing, seductive...and _familiar_. 

She snapped awake on a gasp, pulling away, clutching the sheet to her naked chest—to her _completely naked body_ —as she turned—

And found Pike looking at her, confusion creeping into his expression, replacing the desire that still lingered. 

He was naked, but thankfully half-covered by the sheets, the bruises and love bites on his chest red and accusing in the hazy morning light, filtering in through the blinds of this completely unfamiliar room.

Cold panic gripped Michael's chest. She had no idea how they'd gotten here—on _any_ level. "What's going on? Why are we—where are our clothes?" she asked, voice shaking. 

Pike frowned and glanced toward the door. Michael followed suit and clocked a trail of clothes leading in from a sitting room, like some kind of cliché of frenzied passion, her dropped panties just _obscene_ in the morning light. Michael flushed, picturing how that would have come to be, the two of them ripping each other's clothes off as they rushed to bed. 

But no. _They weren't like that_. They'd never—

Pike looked back to her, worried now. "What's wrong, Michael?"

Michael gripped the sheets to her chest as she searched her memory, breath coming fast and harsh. "I don't remember any of this. What are we— _where_ are we?"

"Risa," he said slowly. 

Michael took in the bedroom and the sitting room beyond, everything tasteful white and blond wood, impersonal—clearly an upscale villa. "What the hell are we doing on _Risa_?" In bed. _Together_. 

"Vacationing?" 

"No, we were—we were on Cantara III, following the red angel signals. We'd gotten a clue, gone down to the abandoned facility—" Michael broke off as recognition dawned in Pike's face, followed by a terrible remorse that Michael didn't understand. "What?"

"That was two years ago," he said quietly, like it _hurt_. He studied her, a hint of despair showing through. "You don't remember anything after..."

Starting to shake, Michael tried to—she searched her mind for _anything_ —but the last thing she knew was that cold and empty facility, overgrown by trees, nothing to be found. She could still feel the disappointment of it, the frustration that the signals _made no sense_. It was all capped off by the eerie sound of the wind rushing through the trees, loud in the otherwise silent halls...and then she woke up here, in bed. With him. 

"No, nothing."

"That was before..." he trailed off, a hint of loss settling around his eyes. "So you don't remember us."

Michael swallowed, hearing the weight in it, how much it meant to him. But she could only shake her head. "You're my captain."

Pike winced, like a blow landing. His eyes flicked to the bedside table, helpless. Michael followed his gaze—

To a ring box, still open, two wedding bands on display. A man's and a woman's. Michael's mind went back to his voice waking her—he didn't get an answer to his question. But he'd seemed pretty sure. 

Oh. 

Pike cleared his throat and looked through the doorway out to the sitting room, shuttering what he was feeling behind his captain's mask. "Of course. That would be disorienting. I'll get you some clothes and we can go to the medical ward."

With that, he rolled out of bed and padded away, leaving Michael to try not to stare at his nudity, at the clothes on the floor, at the rings, at any of the things that didn't make sense. 

If only something did. 

***

Michael fidgeted on the biobed, awkward in the flowy cream-colored dress Pike had handed to her. He stood at the foot of the bed, quiet but supportive, the two of them waiting for the doctor to return. She twisted her hands in the silky material of the dress, even this small thing feeling so foreign. She didn't have dresses like this. She didn't have dresses at all.

Pike had said Cantara III was two years ago. If that was true, it meant everything was different, a chunk of her life just up and vanished. Her gaze darted to Pike, seeming casual in a sky-blue button-down and loose pants, the hint of strain only showing in the tension of his shoulders. Clearly some _significant_ things had happened in those two years. But why couldn't she _remember_?

Pike sensed her gaze and looked over, meeting her eyes evenly. Despite everything, he rested a hand on her ankle and squeezed, reassuring. _Trust_ swept through her, just as it always had around him, like no matter the challenge, he was capable of meeting it. Even though she had no idea what was happening, it still made her feel better. 

A commotion at the entrance drew their attention, Tilly hurrying in, vibrant in an emerald green dress, hair loose. She spotted them, relief flashing across her face. 

...and echoing through Michael, so glad to have her here, to see someone who made _sense_. 

"Tilly," she breathed, grateful, as she approached. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" she asked in a rush, taking Michael in. "You look fine. Wait, are you pregnant?" She looked down to Michael's stomach. 

"No!" Michael said instantly, another wave of panic gripping her. But then she realized...she didn't know _anything_. She looked to Pike, who read her perfectly, lips quirking in reassurance as he shook his head. 

The panic receded a little. She wasn't pregnant. That was something.

"Okay, good, because if you'd kept that from me, we'd be having words right now. So what's going on? Chris, why are you all the way over there?"

Michael started at Tilly calling him 'Chris,' but he didn't react, like this was normal. He turned to Tilly, wholly professional. "Michael woke up this morning missing some of her memories," he summed up succinctly, keeping any trace of emotion out of his voice. 

Tilly laughed, like this had to be a joke. "What?"

Something in Michael trembled at all of it, Tilly being so familiar with Pike, thinking she was pregnant—like the relationship was longstanding enough for _that_ to happen—no hint of surprise at the two of them together. 

Michael swallowed and tried to explain: "The last thing I remember was the mission to Cantara III."

"But...that was two years ago," Tilly said, with growing alarm. "We were still on the _Discovery_. You two weren't—" She looked to Pike, horrified, like she finally understood. Then she turned back to Michael. "You lost two years?"

"'Still on the _Discovery_?'" Michael quoted, heart pounding as the implications landed on her. "Where am I now?"

Pike turned to her, his captain's calm firmly in place: "You came with me and Spock to the _Enterprise_. You've been our Chief Science Officer for almost two years now." 

Michael sucked in a breath. She _left her ship_ to be with him. She'd—

Dr. Wahani approached then, brown eyes sympathetic. With her brown hair twisted up in a bun and neutral lab coat, she had an air of professionalism and competence that Michael deeply appreciated amidst all the...exuberance of Risa. Surely, she would have some answers for them. 

"Well, Michael, I've gone through all the tests we've run and checked in with Dr. Boyce and as far as we can tell, there's nothing wrong with you."

Or perhaps not.

Michael looked at her blankly. "Uh-huh."

Wahani gestured, a viewscreen popping up at her command. It displayed brain imaging, presumably her scans. She pointed to them as she explained: "I'm seeing no signs of trauma or stroke, there are no unknown substances in your system, and your brain waves are totally normal. They match your last scan from the _Enterprise_ exactly. You're the picture of health."

"She can't remember the last two years," Tilly said obviously. " _Something's_ wrong." Wahani frowned, confused, and Tilly amended: "Hi, worried best friend here. Nice to meet you."

Wahani took it in stride. "I don't know what to tell you. All her neural pathways are intact."

"Could this be an attack of some kind?" Pike asked quietly. 

Michael's eyes flew to his, alarmed, even as understanding slammed into her. "Right. The _Enterprise_ would be a target," she reasoned. Flagships always were. 

Pike nodded. "It has to be asked."

Wahani sighed and shook her head. "I'll admit I'm not an expert at these things, but Dr. Boyce concurs that there's no evidence of any foul play. At least, not that we can recognize."

Then a voice called out, turning all their heads—

"We've recently dealt with time travel," Spock said, approaching calmly from the entrance. "Could this be a Michael from an earlier timeline?" 

"Spock," Michael said in relief, hope flaring. Time travel made _sense_ , especially if there were no other abnormalities. Spock nodded to her warmly as he landed by her side. She stared at his casual green pants and white button-down shirt, some kind of linen-like material. She'd never seen him so...informal.

"Yes, Dr. Boyce mentioned something about that. He had me do a chronology scan. Normal," Wahani said. "This body, at least, is the Michael Burnham from this timeline and this universe. And those are very weird things to have to say."

No one smiled at the attempted joke. Michael's hopes shriveled. How could she fix a problem that no one could even identify?

"Perhaps some kind of consciousness swap then," Spock said, turning to Pike. "It's not out of the realm of possibility."

"I was with her all night," Pike offered. "Everything was normal."

Spock tilted his head, accepting that, accepting their relationship like it was a known quotient...and Michael was once again at sea. 

"Clearly something's not," she muttered, a shiver racing through her at the enormity of the implications. Aside from the personal revelations, she knew nothing of what had happened in the last two years—Federation politics, scientific advancements, she didn't even know what their current mission was. She was _useless_. 

Wahani looked to her with a smile that said she knew this wasn't sufficient. "For now I'm listing it as idiopathic amnesia. Settle back in. Spend time with your friends. Maybe it'll jog your memories. Come see me if anything changes."

Pike nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

***

Pike led them out of the medical ward, Michael following behind with Spock and Tilly, mind racing as she tried to come up with a plan that would somehow help...this. She blinked at the soaring central hall they landed in, monumental white columns holding up a domed glass ceiling, everything bright and clean and inviting. Vacationers bustled through, everyone dressed casually. Couples strolled hand-in-hand, relaxed and in love, the entire scene idyllic and warm. 

Michael felt chilled to her core. She stopped and stared at the marble tiling, barely seeing the flecks of silver that made it gleam. She looked up to the others, lost. "What am I going to _do_?"

Pike flinched, one of the few cracks in his façade she'd seen, like he just couldn't handle the pain of it. He ran a palm over his mouth, trying to hide it as Tilly stepped toward Michael and pulled her into a hug. "Whatever happened, we're with you, Michael. You're not alone. We'll figure this out." 

Michael gripped her friend, grounding herself in the touch, in her familiar scent. The panic receded, just a little. 

Tilly pulled back and looked at her. Then she turned to Pike, frowning at how he stared off into the distance, Spock's hand on his shoulder in comfort. She traded a look with Spock. "Why don't I take Michael back to her room and we look through her things to see if that jogs anything. You two go eat."

Pike took a breath and finally looked at them, once again composed. "We'll send you something."

Tilly nodded, grabbing Michael's hand and tugging. "Come on. Let's go check out your closet. It'll be like a shopping trip in a store you already own," she said, tone playful, but there was a false note to it, Tilly trying too hard. 

Michael hated shopping. At Tilly's forced cheerful expression, she decided not to remind her.

***

"Do I really wear these?" Michael asked, fingers plucking at the silky, colorful dresses, some of them downright...revealing. 

"You like the way Chris looks at you in them," Tilly said offhand. She studied Michael. "Nothing seems familiar?"

"I've never seen any of this before in my life. I can't believe I would even wear clothes that are so impractical."

"Well, not on duty, of course." Tilly pulled out a filmy, maroon dress. Or half a dress, seeming to be missing its back. "Not even this? I made you buy it on Betazed last year. You kicked and screamed the whole way until Chris took one look at you in it and you disappeared for two days."

Michael flushed. "That didn't happen."

Tilly sent her a sympathetic look. "I'm really sorry you lost that memory. Even the Betazoids got all hot and bothered by it."

Michael flushed again and shook her head, not understanding any of this. Of course she'd always been drawn to Pike, to his integrity, his goodness, the way his eyes warmed something inside her. But she hadn't... _done_ anything about it. She wouldn't. He was the captain; it was the _definition_ of inappropriate. 

She looked to Tilly, trying to grasp it. "Me and the captain?" she asked, hearing the doubt in her own voice. 

Tilly dipped her chin, a nonverbal, _I know._ "It started after you lost your mom the first time." Pain scraped through Michael at that, but Tilly just continued on, like it was old news. "You kept going through her video logs. You found one from a bad stretch, when her frustration boiled over. I caught you listening to it once. She was complaining about how you kept sacrificing your love for nothing. She blamed Sarek for it, actually, calling it his 'fool notions of propriety.' She just wanted you to be happy." Tilly trailed off, smiling a little. "After that, you went for it. And the rest is history."

"History for _you_ ," Michael said, nothing about that feeling familiar.

"Yeah," Tilly said, wistful. 

A knock at the door interrupted, Tilly opening it to find an attendant bearing a cart of food. "Yes! Can you put it on the table?" she asked him, nodding toward the small meal table set off in a corner, the nearby glass windows overlooking the bay, water shining bright and aqua in the light of the two suns. 

Michael continued to study the closet as Tilly kept up a bright stream of chatter with the attendant, sending him off again. She didn't recognize the person these clothes belonged to. She couldn't picture it. 

"Michael, come eat. You'll feel better," Tilly called. 

Michael sighed and closed the closet door, joining Tilly at the table. The food was simple, Tilly pushing a veggie wrap toward Michael, pouring her a cup of tea, her own sandwich meaty and denser than Michael's.

Michael took a dutiful bite, surprised when the flavors exploded across her tongue, some kind of spice livening up the pleasingly crunchy vegetables. She stared at the food, surprised. "This is good."

"Yeah, Chris arranged veggie options for you. They didn't get the no-meat deal, so it was a whole thing," Tilly explained, taking a happy bite of her sandwich, humming appreciatively. 

Michael sipped her tea, blinking at the familiar note. "This is my favorite." She quickly realized: "He got me my favorite?"

"Duh."

Michael felt her face crumple, something about that _hurting_. She should know these things about her own life. She should be able to remember the man who—who cared for her, who got her the tea she liked, who wanted to _marry_ her. 

Michael closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands to them, trying to _will_ her mind to remember. It had to be in there; two years just couldn't disappear. 

But there was nothing, just a desolate facility and a cold wind whistling through the trees.

Hot tears stung her eyes, still hidden by her hands, as the remorse landed hard. Michael felt Tilly move close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into her, letting the tears fall. "I can't remember," she whispered, miserable. "I want to, but it's just blank."

Tilly made a soothing noise. "I know."

"Our memories make us who we are," Michael said, fear settling into her. "I'm not...me...like this. I'm not this person you know."

Tilly pulled back, taking Michael's hands, looking into her eyes, intense. "You are Michael Burnham, Starfleet officer. Brilliant and generous and kind. You're my best friend. It's who you were then, it's who you are now, and nothing can change that."

Michael nodded, wiping away her tears. If she tried hard enough, maybe she'd believe it. 

Tilly nodded back, like that was settled. "Now finish eating. I have an idea."

***

Tilly set her up with her PADD and two years of personal logs, then left to go check on the others. On Pike. 

It was brilliant, really. Michael may not remember, but in the normal course of events, she'd documented most of the things that had happened to her. As she scrolled through, she found that some of the entries had been marked as notable, so she went to those first, staring at her own face, making video logs she couldn't remember. 

_"Personal Log, Stardate 1037.8: We continue to search for meaning behind the red angel signals, but after so many dead ends and losses I find my hope dwindling. The one constant has been Captain Pike, his steady faith a comfort in these dark times. I continue to be...drawn to him. If anyone can find meaning in this, I'm assured it's him."_

Michael stared at herself, seeing the hint of a smile when she talked about Pike. She betrayed herself with it, some deeper affection lurking there, probably why this one was marked. She selected the next. 

_"Personal Log, Stardate 1038.2: Everyone has dug in, working diligently toward our common goal of saving the galaxy. But despite that, I continue to find myself...distracted by the captain. It's inappropriate, of course. As my commanding officer, there can be nothing—but I can't seem to shake it. I'm hopeful that the importance of our work will be enough to keep my mind focused. That's the right thing."_

Michael marveled. On one level, it was downright surreal to watch herself saying things that she had no memory of saying. On another, she could _see_ that she was fooling herself, trying to excise an attraction that wouldn't go away, a little ashamed that she couldn't master herself. She suddenly _felt_ for her former self; that must have been frustrating, unable to get her emotions in check. 

She selected the next one, seeing herself more visibly distraught. 

_"Personal Log, Stardate 1040.6: I've been continuing through my mom's mission logs, just in case there's something that could help us." Michael stopped, shaking her head, clearly conflicted. "I think she knew. About my attraction to the captain. In one of her later mission logs, she laments that I keep sacrificing love for propriety's sake." Michael stopped speaking again, brow furrowing. "I don't know what to do."_

Michael swallowed, her heart rate ticking up. She moved on to the next one. 

_"Personal Log, Stardate 1041.2: I talked to the captain about it. No, that's not right. I talked to Chris. We—he—it turns out I'm not alone in my...feelings." Michael paused, a hint of hope peeking through. "I think we're going to...see where it goes."_

Michael stared at her own face, glowing and optimistic, on the verge of something beautiful. She suddenly yearned for that feeling, bizarrely jealous of what she could see but couldn't remember. She moved forward to the next log.

_"Personal Log, Stardate 1043.8: I didn't realize it could feel like this. Everything seems brighter. Our mission is as inexplicable as ever, but it affects me less. All I want is—" Michael broke off, looking to the side with a smile, pushing her chair back a little. And then Pike was there, leaning down to kiss her, soft but clinging. Michael smiled when they broke apart, then grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her, their mouths opening, the kiss going heated as Pike wrapped his arms around her._

On the couch, Michael shifted, heat sweeping through her. She had... not expected to see herself in a compromising position. She'd never been interested in erotic videos, and would never consent to making one, but as she watched this she couldn't help but find herself...affected. She imagined her other self—the Michael everyone else knew—seeing this and deciding not to erase it. She had wanted to preserve this moment. 

_Pike pushed Michael back onto the desk, pulling her shirt up and off, then leaning over to kiss her again. Michael gasped as his mouth moved down her chin to her neck, trailing downwards. The light caught Michael's mouth, making it shine, Pike sucking a nipple through her bra._

Heat surged through Michael, warmth pooling between her thighs, her body's visceral reaction to seeing herself lost to pleasure, already trembling in Pike's arms. 

_Michael arched her back, trying to get more of his mouth as Pike worked at the clasp to her bra. She opened her eyes, seeming to lock onto the camera, realization dawning. As Pike removed her bra and took her nipple into his mouth, she gasped out, "Computer, end personal log."_

Michael sucked in a gasp as the screen went black, feeling her pulse pounding through her, the slickness between her legs. She wanted _more_. She wanted to watch the light flow over them— _us,_ her mind whispered—in that erotic tableau, intimate and beautiful. She wanted to _see_ the rapture on her face. 

No, she wanted to _feel_ it. 

Her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth, the truth landing hard. Some part of her hadn't believed it. Some part of her thought it must be a mistake, a cosmic mix-up, _something_...but this? She could _see_ it. She'd loved Pike. And she couldn't remember. 

Michael closed her eyes as the tears fell for what she _knew_...but couldn't feel.

***

Michael looked up from the couch as the door opened, Chris walking in slowly, not wanting to startle her. After all her personal logs, he was Chris now, even in her mind, even though she didn't remember. That other Michael had used his name often enough, with such affection, she couldn't think of him any other way. 

His eyes found her immediately, taking her in—ensconced on the couch and staring at the bay outside, her PADD discarded nearby. She smiled a little in welcome. His lips quirked in return as he stopped behind one of the white club chairs, resting his hands there. "Tilly said you were going through your personal logs."

"Yes, they were very informative."

That got a little spark of hope. "Did they jog any memories?"

Michael shook her head sadly. Chris nodded, hiding his disappointment behind acceptance and moving on. "I talked to the resort about arranging for another room, but it turns out there are no less than seven wedding parties here this week. They're all booked up."

"You don't have to—it's fine," she said. 

"Well, there's a couch, so..." Chris trailed off, awkward like he never was. The silence settled around them, heavy and waiting, like the beat before a breath. 

"I'm sorry," Michael said, quiet.

Chris shook his head, pained but resolved. "Please don't. You had no control over this."

"But I know it hurts you and I don't want to do that. You don't deserve it."

"We rarely get what we deserve in this life," Chris said, something melancholy in it, like he had accepted this as what he got, his love stolen from him without notice. Michael _ached_ for him in that moment, for whatever made him think this was his due. 

She caught his gaze, smiling at him, small. "It's the only life there is, so we might as well try."

Chris softened at that, the love in it shining through. "Spoken like Michael Burnham." But there was a hint of wistfulness in it, some kind of recognition that _that_ Michael was gone, lost to him. 

Something in Michael viscerally _rejected_ that. After seeing her personal logs, she wanted to fight for this, even if she couldn't feel it like he did.

"I'm still me," she offered. "Even if the memories don't come back, I'm still—" Michael broke off, shaking her head. "We fell in love once."

Chris sank into the club chair opposite the couch, hope at war with despair. "What if that was it? What if it took...circumstance, that specific sequence of events to get us to that place?"

"I don't believe that's true."

Chris frowned, some kind of sadness hovering around him as his eyes turned inward. "You were so...reticent. Even when you came to me that first time, it was hesitant, like you wouldn't be there if not for Dr. Burnham's mission log challenging you."

" _But I came to you_ ," Michael insisted, vehement. "I tried. I want to try again." She swallowed, a terrible thought occurring to her. "That is, if you...want to." If it was even worth the heartache and potential for pain. 

Chris was out of his chair and kneeling before her in an instant, his expression more open than she'd ever seen it. "I didn't ask you to marry me because I thought it would be all puppies and rainbows. Of course I want that." He took her hand, gripping it tight. "You're all I want." She could see the truth of it, the love in his eyes almost overwhelming. 

Michael took in a shaky breath, what was theoretical suddenly so real. It was one thing to know Chris loved her. It was another to have Chris at her feet so clearly and obviously _in love with her_. 

She squeezed his fingers back, nodding. "Then we'll...see where it goes." 

Chris nodded, eyes gleaming, the first sustained hope she'd seen there since she woke up and pulled away from him. Michael brought hesitant fingers up to the corner of his eye, touching the smile lines there. Chris caught his breath and the moment held, almost too intense, _want_ waking up in her. 

Michael snatched her fingers back, clearing her throat. She tugged at the hand that still held hers, pulling him toward the couch. "Come on, up. You're making me think you're about to propose again."

Chris huffed a laugh as he sat on the couch. "Don't tempt me."

Michael shook her head at him, trying to distance them from that intensity, to distract herself from the pulse pounding throughout her body. "Wedding bands, really? So traditional."

Chris laughed, like he couldn't help himself. "That's exactly what you said last night." His humor drained away to something contemplative. "I said you didn't have to wear yours if you didn't want to." He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to distance himself from the memory. "We stopped talking after that."

Michael swallowed, forcing her mind away from the tearing off of clothes that must have followed. She didn't need those thoughts right now, compounding her problem.

So she shook it off, focusing on the one question that had been lingering. "I have another question, if you don't mind."

"Shoot."

Michael steeled herself for the inevitable bad news: "What happened to my mom? Tilly mentioned something about the first time we found her, so I assume we found her again, but I couldn't find anything about it in my personal logs."

Chris frowned, mood darkening fast. "We did. I think you were too upset to talk about it, even in private." He looked to Michael, devastating sympathy in his eyes. "She sacrificed herself to save you. To save us all, really. She stopped Control, but we couldn't save her." Michael closed her eyes, nodding. She'd expected that. If it had been anything else, there would have been mentions. Or hell, her mom might even be with them. 

A tear leaked out at that thought. It was a nice dream. 

Then Chris was there, wiping her tears away, pulling her into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Michael. You should know, she was at peace. Knowing it had worked, that you were okay, it was all she wanted."

Michael leaned into his chest, his heart steady at her ear, something about it comforting. She nodded. "I wish I could remember."

"Me, too," he said, hurt in his voice, his hand rubbing up and down her back, rhythmic and soothing. 

Michael let herself stay like that, curled against him, his touch lulling her into serenity as she processed this new information. 

Eventually, she pulled back, sitting up with a melancholy smile. "I miss her."

"She was extraordinary," he agreed, like he had personal experience with it. 

Michael smiled, remembering. "That's right. You got an earful."

"More than one," he shot back, dry. "I think she even approved of us. 'Treat her right; this is your chance, too, Christopher,'" he parroted, somehow capturing her inflection. 

Michael smiled even as more tears slid down her cheeks. Chris wiped those away, too, expression soft. Then he pulled back, taking in the darkness around them like he'd lost time himself. "It's getting late. Come on. You take the bed."

***

Michael took up the rear, covering the group's six with her phaser as they walked carefully down the empty hall, wind whispering through the leaves of the trees. The sound was eerie, especially so deep in the facility. It seemed long-abandoned—trees cracking through the walls, vines growing out of the foundation—no hint why the red angel would visit this place. 

As they passed an intersection and headed deeper, following the energy signature, Michael felt a pulse in her chest. She paused, frowning, no one else seeming to notice. 

As she took a step forward, she felt it again, like someone had reached in and squeezed her heart for an instant before letting go. And suddenly she knew...she needed to go the other way. 

" _Michael_ ," a faraway voice whispered, calling to her. 

Almost in a trance, Michael walked down the branching hallway off the intersection, some kind of rightness settling within her. Everything seemed to glow in here, the plants lit up by a kind of bioluminescence, aqua pulsating within everything, beckoning her closer. She followed its path, feeling her pulse beat in time with it, until the hall dead-ended at a massive tree, its branches reaching down toward her, almost like they were weeping. 

" _Michael, please_..." That voice again, pleading...

As Michael stared, a bud on the branch closest to her started to unfurl, its green giving way to a gorgeous, pulsating red, like a little beating heart within. But then the red petals wilted before her eyes, turning black and dropping away, exposing a dark spike at its core. 

She barely even felt the sting. It was like an itch, or the suggestion of one, Michael reaching up to find the spike embedded in her heart. She pulled it out and her hand came away red, the world tilting—

" _Michael, wake up_!" 

She sat up on a gasp, an unnamed terror clawing at her chest. Chris sat at her bedside, holding her arms. He'd been the one calling her. 

"It's okay, it's okay, it was just a dream," he said, soothing, squeezing her arms reassuringly. He wore pajama pants and a t-shirt, hair mussed, eyes muzzy; her distress must have woken him. 

Michael panted, her heart pounding. Why was she so scared? It was a tree.

She leaned forward, resting her head on Chris' chest, breathing in time with him, in and out, in and out. He smelled familiar, comforting, and the panic receded. 

Chris brought a hand to the back of her neck, settling her further. "Shhh, it's over now."

"I was killed by a tree," she murmured into his chest, exhaustion sweeping through her now that the fear was slipping away, cocooned by his warmth, the sense of safety he carried with him. 

"Mmmm, arboreal justice," he said, wry. "The tree's avenging all those plants you eat." 

Michael snorted, pulling back to look up at him. He kept his hand cradling the back of her neck, the point of contact making her shiver. His eyes gleamed in the faint moonlight streaming in. 

Chris slowly moved his hand, pulling it back to run along her jaw to her cheek. Michael turned her head, leaning into it. 

Chris swallowed. "I should let you get back to sleep."

"Stay," she breathed, not wanting to let go of this feeling. Wanting him with her. 

He hesitated, heat flaring in his expression, overwhelmed by caution. "I don't—"

"Just to sleep," she clarified, covering his hand with hers. She tugged him closer and he swayed into it, seemingly powerless to resist. 

Michael pushed back, making space for him in the bed. Chris climbed in after her, eyes never moving away as he got under the covers. 

And even though she'd never done it before—or she had no memory of it—Michael knew exactly how to lean into him, head on his chest, one leg twined with his. A familiar comfort swamped her, erasing the final worry in her mind, and she breathed out, one clear thought pushing its way through: _this is what I wanted_. 

Then she knew no more. 

***

Michael woke in a tangle of limbs, the two of them now facing each other, legs tangled together, hands touching in the space between them. She'd _never_ slept with anyone like this. But it was like her body knew him, even if her mind didn't. She knew how to share space with him in a bed, which was somehow as intimate as the idea of all the sex they must have had. 

She studied Chris' face as his eyes fluttered and cracked open, staring back at her. The corners of his mouth lifted, like regardless of everything, he was simply glad to see her. _Feeling_ swept through her at that, something deep and trembling that she couldn't name. 

"Morning," he said, voice rough. Then his eyes cleared. "Anything?" he asked, nodding toward her. 

Michael sighed and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Same as yesterday except for that dream about the Cantara III mission."

Chris made a soothing sound and found her hand, squeezing it gently. "It could just take time."

Michael nodded, looking over to him again. "Did anything significant happen on that mission?" she asked, curious. "I can't remember the end of it, but that dream was...odd."

Chris frowned as he tried to recall. "The facility was empty. We never did find out why the red angel had visited. You should check the mission log, though. Maybe it'll spark something."

Michael nodded.

Chris sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair. "We should get ready. Tilly said something about the pool today."

She shook her head. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

***

Michael lay on a lounge next to Tilly, the two of them soaking in the heat of the two suns. Chris had taken one look at Michael in the more modest of her bathing suits—a white cut-out number held together by a few straps and hope—and promptly jumped in the pool, swimming lazy laps with Spock.

Shaded behind her sunglasses, Michael let her eyes track Chris as he swam through the aqua water, muscles bunching in his arms and back, glittering in the light. She could understand why they would have chosen Risa, all things considered. 

"You seem better," Tilly said. 

Michael turned to find her smiling, hair wild and loose, bright purple bathing suit edged with a white daisy design somehow perfectly...her. "I don't remember anything more," Michael offered. 

"Well, you were seriously freaked out yesterday and I'm not getting that now."

Michael sighed. "There's nothing I can _do_. 'Freaking out' certainly won't help."

Tilly's eyes drifted to the pool, then back to Michael. "I bet the eye candy doesn't hurt."

Michael's skin heated, but she didn't look to where Chris was off...existing. "None of that, Ensign Tilly."

Tilly's smile wavered, then brightened again. "It's Lieutenant Tilly now," she said. "Well, Lieutenant Junior Grade."

Michael took that in, once again _aching_ for everything she'd missed, but she made sure to stay in the present, focused on Tilly, smiling at her. "You got promoted. Congratulations."

"Louvier said that I wasn't a complete waste of oxygen," Tilly said, eyes dancing, like this was big news. 

"That's...good?" Michael guessed. 

"He ignores anyone who isn't speaking in theoretical physics, so that's great. He knows my _name_."

Michael was dubious about the practical applications of such a leadership style, but before she could comment, a smirking Chris arrived—still wet from the pool—two drinks in hand, Spock behind him bearing another two. "Ladies," Chris said, handing Michael a curved glass filled with something frothy and white, a little umbrella peeking out. 

As Spock handed Tilly a glass with something bright purple in it, dryly commenting, "I chose a color-coordinated drink since that makes as much logical sense as your others," Michael tipped the drink toward Chris and raised an incredulous eyebrow, trying not to stare at all the skin. 

He smiled, nodding her toward it. "You'll like it. Trust me." Then he lay back on the lounge next to hers and she couldn't avoid taking him in, simple black swim trunks clinging to his thighs, outlining the muscle definition there, his skin and hair still _wet_ , the suns painting across the muscles in his arms, his chest, salt-and-pepper hair sprinkling from there down to his stomach. 

Desperate to do _something_ , Michael took a sip, then made a surprised noise as the sweetness burst across her tongue, only belatedly followed by a bite of alcohol. 

Chris' smile gleamed, the _I told you so_ implied, his energy knowing and self-assured. 

Michael took another sip, suddenly parched, wanting...too many things. 

"One of the guests at the bar mentioned their steam-pools," Spock said, pulling their focus over to the lounge on the other side of Tilly. "He said they're very relaxing. I thought perhaps we'd avail ourselves."

Chris smirked. "Please, God, yes. You're wound way too tight."

Spock tilted his head at Chris, nonverbally challenging that, but before he could respond, Tilly jumped in: "We all should. Come on, Spock, let's go find them."

She was instantly up and tugging him with her, Spock begrudgingly following along, leaving Michael and Chris behind. Michael stared after them, bemused. "What's up there?"

"They've been doing a challenging little flirtation thing for a couple months now. You wanted to stay out of it."

Michael turned to look at him—

Only to find him already watching her, eyes sleepy and hot. Michael scrambled for a response: "And you didn't want to stay out of it?"

"I defer to your wisdom, Commander," he murmured, something downright suggestive about it. 

Michael shivered, eyeing him right back, sunlight still caressing all the skin on display. "You need to reapply your sunscreen. The water neutralizes it."

Chris tipped his head, acknowledging that. He sat up and dug into the bag they'd brought, finding the little tube. And then Michael realized her mistake: she was going to have to watch him _rub sunscreen all over himself_. 

She flushed, looking off toward the now-empty pool, taking another sip of her drink. It was mostly gone by now. When had that happened?

From by her side, Chris made a frustrated noise, pulling her focus back—

To find him struggling to reach between his shoulderblades, the angle awkward. 

Michael drained the rest of her glass and set it aside. "Here, let me."

She stood, taking the sunscreen from him, rubbing a small amount into the middle of his back, where he couldn't easily reach, fingers smoothing over the skin. Chris held very still, though she could feel his heart beating quickly under her hand, his even breaths in and out. Michael's hands slowed, enjoying the touch. 

Chris tipped his head back to look at her, blue eyes intense. "If you wanted to get your hands on me, you didn't need a pretense," he said, voice low. 

"Good to know," Michael murmured, brushing her body against his as she moved away, back to her lounge, pretending that her pulse wasn't beating fast and hard in her ears, fingertips still tingling. Ignoring how he was _right_ ; she'd initiated that contact, needlessly. Because she did want her hands on him. It was _all_ she'd wanted from the moment he'd stripped off his shirt and jumped in the pool. 

Michael settled back, mind working furiously at all the implications of this thing between them. It was a relationship on fast-forward, yet again. Generally, you didn't start out knowing your partner wanted to marry you, that you'd been sleeping together for years, that what you had was solid and real. 

Michael was a little bitter she'd lost the beginning, when it was still new, the two of them learning each other. She felt like that now, like her body had woken up and taken notice of him, wanting to get as close as possible. But at the same time, she shied away. What happened if they didn't work, if she was too different and they couldn't bridge the gap? Would sleeping with him be leading him on? Would it just make things worse? 

She didn't know, and she didn't want to cause more harm, but she also kept getting drawn in. 

So she lay on her lounge and did nothing. 

***

Eventually, Tilly and Spock came back, Tilly enthusing that they _had_ to go to the steam-pools that night, it was _required_. 

But first, a late lunch, Chris thankfully donning a shirt for the occasion, Michael covering herself in her wrap, and everything feeling instantly more civilized. As she asked Tilly about her Lieutenant's exam, a waiter appeared by her side, setting a plate down before her, some kind of vegetable appetizer she didn't recognize.

She looked up, surprised. "I didn't order this."

"From the gentleman," the waiter said, nodding to Chris and then disappearing. 

Michael looked at him curiously, but he just nodded her toward the dish. "I think you'll like it." Then another waiter arrived and placed a pale orange drink in front of her before turning to Tilly and Spock. "And for you?" 

As they ordered, Michael took a tentative bite of the dish, some kind of pleasingly-springy root vegetable covered in a chunky sauce, all of it cool and refreshing. She looked over at Chris, who leaned back, watching her indulgently, seeming pleased. 

"Aren't you having anything?" she asked. 

"It's coming. Didn't want you getting hangry on us," he said, eyes flashing amusement at her. 

Michael sat back. "I don't do that," she said evenly. 

From her other side, Tilly snorted into her drink, Michael's head whipping around to stare at her. "Right," Tilly said, tone at odds with her words. 

"What?" Michael asked, hearing a touch of defensiveness to her own voice. 

Spock nodded serenely, agreeing with Tilly. "It is best to ensure your blood sugar remains constant, for all our sakes."

Michael looked at all of them askance. "How is it I'm getting ganged up on here?"

"Out of love, Michael. All out of love," Chris said, toasting her with his drink. 

***

Chris stepped out as the dessert plates were being cleared away. Michael took the opportunity to round on Tilly and Spock. "He keeps getting things for me," she said, bewildered. "Grabbing drinks, handing me my towel, opening doors, ordering food."

Tilly gripped her hand, marveling, "Oh, my God, I'm having such flashbacks right now."

Spock just seemed amused. Michael shook her head at Tilly. "What?"

"We had this exact conversation two years ago. Like, literally, word for word."

That threw Michael; she'd never considered that she'd be literally re-doing parts of her relationship with Chris, parts others had already witnessed. "Really?"

"You're so not used to anyone putting you first." Tilly shook her head, a shadow of remorse flickering at that thought, before she shrugged it off. "Back then I said to just enjoy it since you didn't know how long it'd last."

"And now?"

Spock tilted his head, like he'd considered this. "That is the captain's way."

Tilly nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's an old school provider type. He takes care of you."

"It's weird," Michael admitted. She'd never had anyone...care enough to concern themselves with the little things. 

"It's _hot_ ," Tilly corrected. 

Spock flicked his eyes to Tilly, like that interested him, before looking back to Michael. "After two years of observation it's clear to me that this will not change. I suggest you learn to accept it."

Chris returned then, carrying fresh towels, something pleased around his eyes. "So, steam-pools?"

***

Michael sighed at the water enveloping her, its natural heat seeping into her muscles, which felt like they gradually loosened one by one. They'd chosen one of the smaller steam-pools, just big enough for the four of them, its aqua water darkening as the suns lowered in a spectacular dual sunset. 

The inside of the pool had been smoothed out by the water over many years, offering natural ledges in which to recline. "They weren't overselling these," Michael said, hushed, the rising steam making everything a little hazy and soft. 

Directly across from her, Tilly made a satisfied noise, her red hair floating in the water behind her. "I am never leaving this pool. You'll have to beam me out against my will."

Spock, of course, looked wholly alert, even as he rested his head back against the raised lip of the pool. "It's the high magnesium content of the water," he offered. "It's a natural muscle relaxant."

Beside her, Chris huffed a laugh. "Of course you looked that up."

"Don't mock, Chris, science is sexy," Tilly shot back, smiling even with her eyes closed. 

Spock blinked at her, something vaguely startled about his expression before he quickly masked it. 

"You won't hear me arguing with that," Chris said, light, looking over to Michael. She could read the amusement dancing in his eyes, like a secret shared between them. She tilted her head in return, a silent _stay out of it_. 

Chris winked in response.

Michael marveled at how easy it all was, slipping back into these relationships—people she knew so well, loved so well—even given the added dimension with Chris. 

Chris seemed to pick up on her shift in mood. "What is it, Michael?" 

The others peered at her, curious, so Michael smiled, though she knew it was a little forced. "I was thinking...I don't know what I'd do without you. With everything that's happened, I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "You're my heart." 

Tilly smiled slightly. "We're family," she agreed, like it really was that simple. Beside her, Spock nodded. 

"We're always here for you, Michael. No matter what happens," Chris promised, _layers_ to his words. The aqua water reflected in his eyes, making them seem so _blue_. 

Tamping down on the wave of gratitude crashing through her, Michael smiled again, looking to all of them. " _Thank you_."

Tilly's smile looked a little watery, but she shook it off. "Enough of that. We're supposed to be relaxing, not getting all emotional."

"Agreed," Spock said, dry. 

"Shocking, coming from you," Tilly parried back, smirking at him. 

Underneath the water, Chris took Michael's foot in his hands, rubbing his thumbs into the arch, Michael sighing and flexing it as the tension released. She rested her head back against the pool and let the gentle banter of her family buffet her, breathing in the sweetness of the breeze, luxuriating in Chris' touch, everything about this moment calm and perfect. 

Perfect. 

***

Belying her words, Tilly eventually did leave, complaining about her fingertips pruning. Spock trailed off not long after, leaving Michael and Chris alone, Chris having moved from massaging one foot to the other. 

One sun had set, the other nearly there, a sliver of orange on the horizon. Risa's automatic lighting system had activated, casting a warm glow over the steam-pools. Michael didn't want to leave; she wanted to hold onto this moment forever, even as she knew it was fleeting, a memory. 

How many such moments was she missing, unaware of what she couldn't remember? 

"Hey," Chris said, drawing her from her thoughts, eyes concerned. 

Michael smiled in acknowledgment. "I don't even know what I've missed. Not really." She gestured at the pool around them. "Today isn't something I'd know was gone, but I can't imagine losing it."

"You won't," Chris said, firm. 

"You don't know that," Michael said, frowning. "We don't know what happened. What's to keep it from happening again? What if I wake up in two years and find all of this gone? What kind of life is that?" she asked, voice breaking as her mind worked through all the worst-case scenarios. 

Chris suddenly firmed his grip on her foot, pulling her to him. Michael went with it, sliding into his arms on a gasp, suddenly so _close_ , so much skin pressed against her. "You can't give in to defeatist thinking," he rumbled, eyes fierce. "Trust in our people. We will figure this out." 

Michael relaxed against him, feeling his arms around her, skin lighting up everywhere they touched. She lifted careful fingers to his jaw, marveling. "You're so certain."

"Believe in us, Michael," he said, comforting, resolute. 

She couldn't help herself—she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, their lips connecting, so soft but sending a rush of heat through her that felt _familiar_. 

Chris breathed _out_ , tilting his head, and then it was a real kiss, lips moving against each other as he took control and kissed her carefully, deliberately, like he wanted to get it right. 

Michael smiled against his mouth and pulled back. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing over her skin, eyes reverent. 

"For me, that was our first kiss," she murmured, low. "How'd it compare with yours?"

"Different. The same. Still perfect," he said, leaning in to kiss her again, this one stronger, teasing her mouth open to dip his tongue _in_ , light but pointed. A statement of intent. 

Michael groaned into the kiss, her arms squeezing him reflexively, body heating up. And suddenly, all her doubts seemed silly. Why worry about all the questions when she could spend her time feeling this, getting lost in this? With him, like this, everything else seemed to melt away. 

He ended the kiss, pulling away with a breath, eyes taking her in like he wanted to memorize the moment. Like it was something precious. 

"We should get back," he said finally, reluctant but firm. 

Michael swallowed and nodded, a tiny part of her relieved. While so much of her _wanted_ , it was also...a lot, all at once. 

It would keep. 

***

Dinner with Tilly and Spock was equally warm, Michael floating through it almost dream-like, the giddy feeling of a crush buoying her. But it was more than just a crush, she knew it every time Chris looked at her, Michael suddenly _feeling_ everything she'd wanted to, real and present. 

After dinner, in the shower rinsing off, she ran her fingers over her lips, replaying that kiss, like some kind of fantasy come to life. If she had to lose so much, at least she could have this. 

Michael dried herself and pulled on her pajamas, soft sleep pants and a roomy shirt, shutting off the lights to head into the bedroom. The lights in the sitting room were low, Chris standing at the windows in his pajamas, looking out over the bay, something heartbreakingly beautiful about his profile. 

She walked over and leaned against him from behind, arms going around his waist. Chris covered them, the two of them holding each other, just enjoying the closeness. Outside the window, lights twinkled from other villas, the dark water of the bay still somehow lit up. She noticed a ring of aqua in the middle of it, pulsing with phosphorescence. They must have bioluminescent phytoplankton on Risa. She marveled a little; everything about this planet was beautiful and peaceful. No wonder people spoke of it in such reverent tones. 

Chris finally sighed and turned in her arms, looking down at her. "I didn't know where to sleep," he said, cautious. "I didn't want to presume."

Wrapped in his arms, Michael breathed him in, the answer obvious in her body's response; she couldn't imagine sending him away. "I want you with me."

Satisfaction sparked in his eyes as he nodded, small, letting her tug him toward the bedroom. Michael towed him behind her with one hand, letting him go when she reached the bed. She pushed the covers back and crawled in, Chris following suit after a moment. He kept a respectful distance, still not pushing. 

Michael moved closer, relaxing against him. "You can touch me," she said, surrounded by his scent, the comfort of it lulling her. 

"I don't know what the boundaries are anymore," he murmured, echoing her own thoughts, arm moving around her to press her close. 

"We'll figure it out," she said, quiet, and then the world faded. 

*** 

Michael stepped carefully down the branching hallway, whispering wind seeming insistent now, scraping through the leaves of the trees, like it was trying to tell her something. 

She held her phaser up, but there was no threat to be found, nothing more than bioluminescent algae covering the walls. It pulsed with an aqua light, rhythmic and soothing. She dropped her phaser as she moved deeper down the hall, noting the same pulse of light in the weeds sprouting through the foundation, in the trees that somehow grew through the walls. It transfixed her, breathtakingly beautiful, so very _alive_.

She turned to take more of it in, Chris flashing before her eyes, but then gone again, like the after-image of looking into a light. 

Michael shook her head, not understanding, but she forgot it as she spotted a nearby branching vine, the light within it seeming to expand and then retract with regularity. Almost like a heartbeat. 

A few more steps brought her to the dead end, the weeping tree rising out of the darkness, its branches pulsing, reaching for her. A gust of wind seemed to fling one closer to her, that glorious bud blooming before her eyes, green to red, little aqua veins pulsing throughout. 

Michael frowned as the petals dropped away, mourning for the loss, only the dark spike remaining, devoid of color—

A gasp had her reaching for it, lodged in her chest, bright red covering her fingers as the whispering increased in pitch and urgency, almost becoming a scream—

Michael woke, chest heaving, fear shaking through her. 

"It's okay, Michael. You're awake now." Chris held her close, shushing her, hands moving over her, grounding her in reality. 

She sank into him, head over his heart, beating slow and steady while hers beat high and fast. She matched her breathing to his, trying to will herself calm, even though something inside her rebelled. 

After a few moments, it worked, her body accepting that there was no crisis. She was safe in Chris' arms. Nothing could touch her. 

Chris made a curious noise against her, hand still stroking down her back. 

"It was the tree again," Michael murmured, quiet in the dark. 

"There must be some reason your mind is focusing on that mission," he replied, considering. "We'll take a look at the mission log."

"In the morning," she said, settling against the solidity of him, comfort coursing through her. 

"In the morning," he agreed, soft.

***

Dr. Wahani peered at her, stumped. "You're dreaming about a tree?"

"A tree killing me," Michael confirmed. "But it obviously didn't."

"Not unless this is heaven. Or hell," Chris quipped. Then he considered. "That question's gonna linger."

Michael shot him a look, Chris taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. "Kidding, kidding. The afterlife would be far more obvious."

"And you didn't actually see this tree on the away mission? It's something your mind is adding?" Wahani clarified. 

Michael nodded. "I wish I could explain it. We read the mission log again. It was completely uneventful."

Wahani nodded, the marking of her Risan heritage on her brow furrowing as she frowned. "Honestly, it sounds psychological. Your brain readings are the same as two days ago, aside from the usual process of creating new memories. Nothing in your scans indicates a problem."

"You think this is a job for a counselor?" Chris asked, dubious. 

"I wish I had better advice," Wahani said, clearly frustrated. 

Michael sighed. "Thank you, Doctor."

***

After breakfast, they changed, Michael feeling more herself in sturdy black pants and a form-fitting black shirt. She exited the bathroom to find Chris similarly dressed, the pants clinging to him deliciously. 

Distracted, she almost missed it when Chris tossed her a bundle of cloth, though she dodged and caught it just in time. She raised an eyebrow at him, clocking his knowing smirk. He'd seen her checking him out. 

"For your hands," he explained, nodding to the cloth. "The cliffs at Galartha don't just change pitch. The handholds shift, too."

Michael nodded, stowing the wraps. "We'll have safety lines?"

"Of course."

He turned toward the door, hefting his pack, but before he took more than a few steps, the comm system chimed, a call coming in. Chris paused to accept it. 

The ghostly form of an older woman appeared—her gray hair twisted up immaculately—clothes simple, but well-made. She looked at them fondly, but there was something brisk about it, too. "Chris, Michael. I'm glad I caught you."

Michael blinked. She had no idea who this woman was. 

Chris realized that, turning to her and gesturing to the woman in introduction. "Michael, my mother, Lisa Pike. Mom, you got my message?"

"That's why I called." She cast worried eyes at Michael. "How are you feeling?"

"Unfortunately my memories have yet to return, but otherwise I feel fine," Michael said, a little awkward, unsure of their relationship. "Thank you for asking, ma'am."

"Lisa," she corrected, expression flickering with _something_. 

Michael looked to Chris, trying to gauge his mood, but he seemed at ease, looking to his mother in welcome with an undercurrent of melancholy to it. "We're trying to figure it out. The doctor thinks maybe going about her life might jog something."

"Idiopathic amnesia is a bullshit diagnosis," she said bluntly, startling a laugh from Michael. 

Chris turned to her with a smile. "Mom's a doctor. Clearly." He turned back to Lisa, shrugging. "We're on Risa, Ma, what do you expect? Boyce is on it, too, but the brain scans aren't showing anything."

Lisa turned to Michael, sympathetic and frank. "I know you don't remember me, but you and I like each other."

"I'll bet," Michael said, dry. 

"With your permission, I'd like to take a look at your medical records to see if we can't do better than the tripe that Risan doctor came up with."

Michael made a go-ahead gesture. "I'll take as many minds on it as I can."

Lisa nodded. "I'll review everything and get back to you. Be safe, you two." With that, she ended the call. 

Michael turned to Chris. "Father taught science and comparative religion, mother was a doctor?"

"The 'when does life begin' debates alone," he lamented, long-suffering. 

Michael just laughed.

***

When Chris said the cliffs at Galartha had a tendency to shift, he was underselling it. 

Michael gasped as one of her handholds suddenly went smooth and flat, sending her flailing, scrambling for purchase. At the same time, the vertical wall went convex, leaving her hanging by one hand. 

Then Chris was there, a hand grabbing her elbow. "Gotcha," he said, sweat dotting his forehead. 

Above them, Tilly and Spock clung to the rockface, looking down. "Is everyone all right?" Spock asked, the strain only showing in his voice.

"We're good," Michael said, nodding to Chris gratefully as she hefted herself and grabbed hold of a new divot that had just appeared, digging her feet into the crevices in the rock. She breathed in, swallowing against the grit of the rock dust drying out her mouth, the cliff's radiated heat from the two suns sinking into her, making her sweat. 

Chris pulled back, shifting to a new handhold just as the other disappeared, pulling himself up.

"The handholds seem to linger for at least five seconds," he called to everyone. 

"Gee, how nice of them," Tilly muttered, flinging herself up and managing to grab a new hold just in time. 

Michael climbed beside Chris, noticing how he shifted his attention from his hold to Spock and Tilly to Michael and back again. He was keeping an eye on all the pieces on the board. 

The crevice his right foot dug into suddenly disappeared, Chris jolting—

Michael flung out an arm, bracing him. Chris flashed her an appreciative smile, righting himself and climbing on. 

Michael was about to pull herself up when she paused—

A vine snaked out of a nearby crack, its bright aqua flower sending a jolt of fear through her as she flashed to—

_Cold, empty hallway, vines pulsing with aqua energy, the beat of her heart, wrong wrong wrong_

Michael's handhold dissolved and she _snapped_ out of it, lunging upwards—

Chris caught her hand, anchoring her, eyes worried. "You okay?"

"Just distracted. Thanks," she said, reorienting herself and finding a new path, hiding how shaken she was at the flashback to the dream. What was this cold pit of dread in her gut? It didn't make any _sense_. 

Michael put it out of her mind as she continued to climb, the two of them working in tandem to ascend a few more meters. Chris anticipated her moves, and she his, so in tune it was like they'd been doing this for ages. Satisfaction flooded Michael as they moved in concert, sharing holds, boosting each other up, like they were extensions of each other. 

It was small, and probably dumb, but something about it gratified her on a base level. 

And then their entire section of rock went _completely sheer_. 

They both dropped like stones, that flutter of freefall roiling Michael's stomach until her safety line caught, shocking the breath out of her. 

Michael looked to Chris, finding him equally dazed, and she couldn't help it: she laughed. 

Chris shook his head and followed suit, the two of them dangling in the open sky, held by rope and nothing else. "Well, that's humbling," he said. 

"It's a little microcosm of life," Michael offered, swinging herself toward him. "Sometimes, you can't win."

Chris grabbed her safety harness, bringing their bodies in close, just the two of them suspended in a world of light and air. "We can still try," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her softly. 

Michael surrendered to the romanticism of it, kissing in a cloudless sky, until a cleared throat interrupted—

They looked up to find Tilly and Spock watching from the top of the cliff, Tilly smiling, delighted. 

"Any time you'd like to join us," Spock said pointedly. 

Michael grinned. "Any time you'd like to pull us up, Lieutenant."

***

Chris had dinner waiting for them when they returned to the villa. Michael beelined for it, not even bothering to shower or change from her dust-covered climbing gear; she was _famished_. 

She popped some kind of veggie roll into her mouth, making a satisfied noise as she chewed and swallowed. "You are my _hero_ ," she said, vehement, reaching to uncover the stew that seemed to be the main dish. 

Chris laughed lightly, joining her. "I know how to buy your love," he shot back, all teasing blue eyes, the stripe of gravel across his cheek somehow charming and carefree. 

"You do," she said, reaching out to run her fingers across the gravel, brushing it away. 

Chris' eyes darkened an instant before he leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of mouths that still somehow lit up nerve endings throughout her entire body. 

Michael pressed closer, tilting her head as she kissed him back, more forceful, remembering the cliff, the two of them moving so perfectly together. Wondering what else that would translate to. 

Chris _hmmed_ against her mouth and pulled away with a regretful smile. "We have to meet Spock and Tilly."

"Do we?" Michael asked, licking her lips, still feeling the sparks racing through her. 

Chris shot her a hungry look, but stepped back anyway, going teasing again. "Food or shower? We can switch off."

She grabbed another of those veggie rolls pointedly. "Wouldn't want to get hangry now."

Chris laughed.

***

Tilly had dragged them to one of Risa's many bars, a hedonistic, multicultural swirl, all revealing dresses and predatory looks. For once at a party, Michael had the right clothes—that backless maroon dress that was scandalous enough to pass muster, Chris eyeing her appreciatively when she'd stepped out of the bathroom. She'd eyed him right back, formal and handsome in his gray jacket over a pale green shirt. 

Now, in the crowd, with the noise and the lights...it all just made Michael's head ache.

Chris stepped to her elbow and handed her a drink—she didn't even ask anymore, accepting it easily; it was probably something she liked. She could feel his eyes on her, measuring. "You hate this," he surmised.

On the dance floor, Tilly twirled in a bright pink dress with not one, but two gentlemen, both of whom were getting handsy and she didn't seem to mind at all. She waved at Michael with a grin. Michael tipped her drink in response and then took a sip. 

"Look at her. She's reveling in this," Michael said, fond. 

Chris shrugged. "She's just trying to make Spock jealous."

"And succeeding," Michael shot back, glancing to Spock at the bar, watching the goings-on with his usual stillness. She could see his mind working underneath it all. 

Chris eyed her keenly. "Dodging my question, Michael?"

"Was there a question?" she asked, cheeky.

"Okay, I'm confiscating this," he said, lifting her drink and taking a sip. Something about it sent a frisson of heat through her. Her mouth had just been on that same glass. 

"Yes, I hate this," she finally acknowledged. "Why? You have something else in mind?"

***

Chris toed off his shoes as they reached the sand, his socks following suit. 

Michael smiled and watched the flex of muscle as he bent over, enjoying the view. Chris looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "You gonna join me?"

Michael kicked off her strappy sandals easily, scooping to pick them up. "A long walk on the beach is not what I thought you had in mind," she said, baiting him a little. 

Chris finally stood, holding his shoes. He wiggled his toes in the sand. "Huh. Imagine that," he said with a sparkle, his free hand grabbing hers, tugging her forward.

They walked hand in hand along the deserted bay, admiring the twinkling lights in the dark, the twin moons hanging low. The ocean lapping at the shore soothed her, a kind of rhythmic sway to it that made Michael marvel. "Can you imagine there was a time when the _sea_ was the final frontier," she murmured. 

The corners of his mouth lifted. "We would've been sailors."

" _You_ would've," she said, studying his profile. She could see it suddenly, Chris at the bow of some ship, peering into the distance with purpose and direction. His crew would've loved him, sailed to the ends of the Earth if he asked. 

Michael shook off such romantic notions. His crew already did love him. And they were not 18th Century explorers, thank goodness. "I would've been stuck in some kitchen somewhere. If not worse."

Chris turned to her with a secret smile. "You'd have found a way to explore. Nothing stops Michael Burnham."

Michael _mmmed_ appreciatively. "A pirate, then. You chasing me across the seven seas."

Chris stepped close, his gaze warm. "I'd chase you anywhere." This kiss was slow, teasing, Chris nibbling at her lips until she sighed into his mouth and dropped her shoes, her arms going around him. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, doing some exploring of his own, one hand running down the length of her naked back, the feel of his hands on her body making her _ache_. Michael pressed herself against him, her blood heating. 

It was ridiculous—kissing on a beach by the light of twin full moons—but Michael let herself sink into it, mind blanking as that delicious heat swept through her. At the careful press of fingers to her hip, gentle and warm, she found that her worries about escalating their relationship were just...gone. Everything about Chris felt safe and reassuring and _enticing_. This couldn't be a mistake. 

When she pulled back to breathe, his eyes gleamed, some kind of light in them. She blinked and realized...no, that was actual light, an aqua reflection dancing there. She turned—

And her breath caught. A luminescent ring of aqua hovered in the bay, moving with the sway of the water, seeming pulsing and alive. 

"Look at that," Michael breathed, in awe. 

"Bioluminescent phytoplankton," Chris guessed, his arms gripping her tight. 

Michael turned back to him, that brilliant hue still dancing in his eyes, making him seem otherworldly. She shivered. 

Chris clocked it, stepping back and shrugging out of his jacket, settling it around her. She pulled it close, breathing in his scent as he handed her shoes to her with a small smile. "Shall we?"

***

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Michael dropped his coat to the floor and turned into his arms. This kiss had _intent_ to it, fire, and Chris groaned into her mouth, feeling it. 

He pulled back a breath. "We don't have to."

Michael pressed against him harder, her body already buzzing. "We absolutely do." She dragged him back into a kiss and all his resistance crumbled, hands gripping her tight as he deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth. 

Michael was the one who broke it this time, shooting him a smirk. Then she turned and moved for the bedroom, Chris catching up a beat later, pressing close, nuzzling the back of her neck, hands on her hips. "Do you have any idea what this dress does to me?" he rumbled, his tongue laving the bumps of her spine. 

Michael gasped at the honeyed heat igniting between her legs. "Tilly may have mentioned something."

Chris turned her, smile wicked, dipping down to press a fleeting kiss to her mouth. "So this was your plan, then." He backed her toward the bed, fingertips trailing deliciously down her spine. 

"If you like."

"Oh, I like," he murmured as he took her mouth, fingers plucking at the dress' clasp, secured at the back of her neck. He unhooked it and tugged, the dress puddling at her feet, leaving her only in lacy black panties, provocative in their own right. 

Chris' heated gaze took her in, and part of her wanted to shy away from that, to hide, but when he met her eyes again his were so full of desire it stole her breath. He took his hand from the back of her neck and trailed in down the center of her body, light, tantalizing, his fingers stopping at the lace. Then he smirked...and dropped to his knees. 

The sight of Captain Pike getting on his knees for her would stay with her for a while. 

He pressed his mouth to the lace at her hip, breathing against her skin hotly before tracing along the edge of her panties with his tongue. 

Michael's body _clenched_ , desperate to have him inside her and they'd barely even started. One hand went to his hair as she gasped, swaying into his mouth. 

Chris looked up with a flash of a smile, hooking his fingers in her panties and tugging them down, Michael kicking them off eagerly. He nudged her back onto the bed, crawling up after her, and Michael groaned aloud at the sight of him kissing his way up her thighs, nudging them wider. 

He didn't delay, simply bent his head and licked from her slit all the way up, fingers parting her so he could circle his tongue around her clit. Michael made a shocked noise, nerve endings screaming blissfully, muscles fluttering in pleasure, hand finding a grip in his hair again. But Chris stayed focused, slipping two fingers into her and curling them as he licked and sucked and _drove her out of her mind_. 

He knew _exactly_ what she liked, tongue tracing figure-eights around her clit, flicking just above it rhythmically, his fingers pumping into her slowly. He massaged her g-spot, sending a new wave of pleasure crashing through her even as his mouth wouldn't let up, every inch of her skin lit up as she gasped and writhed against him, desperate. 

" _Chris_ ," Michael called as she bucked, trying to get more. He held her down, sealing his mouth over her clit and _sucking_ —

She cried out as everything in her pulled tight, freefalling as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, Chris expertly stoking it, relentless, until Michael was a shaking, gasping mess of sex-drenched neurons, beyond sense. 

After, he brought her down slowly, his mouth and fingers still moving, but drawing her through it, gentling her. Somehow it sent _more_ pleasure up her spine, not the urgent kind, but a diffuse warmth spreading through every limb. 

When she could hear again, Michael realized how loud her gasping sounded in the quiet room, loud and _wrecked_. 

She looked down when Chris finally pulled away, resting his chin on her thigh to watch her, face shiny with... _her_. 

It made her flush even more than the lust in his eyes, the way his pupils were fully dilated. He was...turned on by getting his mouth on her, a fact that sent a new wave of heat cresting through her. Everyone else had treated this like a duty; Chris looked _intoxicated_. 

"You are...really good at that," she breathed, aftershocks still rolling through her. 

Chris smirked. "I know."

Michael ran her fingers over his mouth, breath catching when he sucked them in, the bright flare of _heat_ and _wet_ around her fingers sliding through her. "I want you inside me," she said, realizing she did, desperately. 

Chris _hmmed_ around her fingers and released them, lips quirking up. "You need a few minutes," he said like he knew what he was talking about. Then he pressed his mouth to her thigh again and started trailing kisses up her body, fingers sliding over her skin in concert, languidly exploring, like he had all the time in the world. 

His tongue traced the muscles in her stomach, dipping teasingly into her bellybutton, making her laugh. But he kept moving, biting at her ribs before soothing it with his tongue, moving up to lave the underside of her breast. 

Michael gasped when he sucked a hardened nipple into his mouth, the flare of heat arrowing straight through her, making her _want_ again. His fingers rolled her other nipple, eliciting that same spark, Michael's breathing going heavy.

She pulled him up more urgently, their mouths crashing together, Michael groaning at the taste of herself on his tongue. His body was heavy over hers, his erection pressing into her hip, and she ran her hands over him restlessly, trying to get underneath the clothes he still wore. She made a noise of protest into his mouth, then broke away. "Off," she demanded, scrabbling at his shirt. 

Chris groaned and rolled off her, shucking his shirt quickly while Michael watched from the bed, breathless. It was artless, a scramble to get rid of clothes more than a deliberate tease, but it still _burned_ through her, the sight of Chris' hands shaking on his pants making everything in her tremble. 

She'd already devoted ample time to studying his body, all coiled strength and easy grace, but watching him crawl naked into bed with her still hit her low. His cock lay red and hard against his thigh, ready for her, and she moaned, wanting. 

Chris seemed to get it, dropping random kisses all over her before he landed by her side. "C'mon, up," he said, sitting up against the headboard and urging her to follow suit. 

Michael dragged herself up, limbs still lethargic, but Chris had a plan, tugging her over to perch on his thighs. Heat shot through her as she realized what he meant to do. "Like this?" she breathed against his mouth, her nipples pressed to his chest, his chest hair shooting sensation through her as they breathed. 

"You'll like," he said, short, before bringing their mouths together and shifting her over. A hand between them lined him up and then Michael gasped as he pulled her down, nerve endings firing again as he filled her. 

Chris groaned as she sank onto him, overcome. When she bottomed out they stayed still for a few moments, kissing and breathing against each other.

"You okay?" he panted into her mouth, eyes glazed.

Michael could only make a wordless noise as she got her knees under her, shifted up, and sank _down_ , heat flaring. 

" _Michael_ ," Chris called out, desperate, and then it was _frantic_ , Michael shoving herself onto him as Chris dug his hands into her hips, biting at each other's mouths, trying to keep hold of each other as sweat slicked everything, passion overtaking them. 

Michael couldn't remember ever feeling so full, her body screaming _yes yes yes_ at her every time she rocked down onto him, pleasure sparking _everywhere_. 

Chris looked out of his mind, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, gasping for breath. 

As Michael felt her body fluttering uncontrollably around him, she brought their mouths together, sucking on his tongue. 

Chris pressed his fingers between them, stroking her clit _perfectly_ , and Michael bit his lip as she came, orgasm _burning_ through her, so good it was just on the edge of pain. 

Chris moaned and jerked, cock pulsing inside her, body shaking uncontrollably and Michael made a hungry noise into his mouth, curling tighter around him, holding him close. This was _hers_. She was the only one who got to see him like this, open and vulnerable. 

After long, blissed-out moments clinging to each other, Chris pulled back a little to look at her. He ran his fingers along her cheek, reverent. 

Michael leaned into the touch, _getting it_ , putting her feeling into her look. 

Chris pressed their mouths together again, fierce, and Michael fell into it, already so much deeper than she'd thought possible. She felt naïve, silly, for thinking this would make things worse or awkward or hard. On the contrary, for the first time she felt totally clear; this was what she wanted, for as long as she could have it. 

Eventually they separated, Chris slipping out of her, the two of them collapsing against each other, spent. 

Michael was out almost instantly. 

***

Her steps rang loud in the empty hallway, Michael lowering her phaser as she moved deeper, transfixed by the aqua pulsing all around her. It was like walking through a fairytale, the life flowing through these plants beating in time with her heart, drawing her in. 

Drawing her on, all the way back to the tree with its weeping branches, like they were reaching for her. A deep thrum accompanied the tree, resonating in time with the aqua pulse. Here, so close, it almost drowned out the whispering of the wind through the branches. 

A branch swayed toward her, its bud blooming bright green, then red, little aqua veins pulsing—

And suddenly it was Chris' face at the center of the bloom, a smile flashing quick and enticing—

Before it wilted with the petals, dropping to the floor, leaving only that spike behind. 

Michael's breath caught as it lanced through her heart, her hands coming up, coming away red as the room swirled—

Michael woke up with her hands at her throat, she couldn't breathe— _she couldn't breathe_ —

And then Chris was holding her. "Breathe, Michael. Nice and slow," he murmured, rubbing her back, Michael finally able to gasp _in_.

"Shhhh, that's it," Chris soothed, arms around her, keeping her close. 

Michael panted and shook, desperate gratitude sweeping through her, his steady presence calming her racing heart.

She slumped against him, making a soft noise, and Chris' arms firmed, like he wanted to protect her from everything, even her own mind. 

"The tree again?" he asked, soft. 

"I don't know what it means," she said, finally feeling her pulse get back to normal, her breathing evening out.

Chris sighed an unhappy sigh, but said nothing. Neither of them had answers. 

Michael shifted, her body sliding against Chris', suddenly realizing they were both naked. And awake. Skin touching _everywhere_. 

She looked up at him, just able to make out his expression in the moonlight. It went from vaguely troubled to amused like _that_. "Really?" he asked, dry. 

"Since we're both up."

Chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head once. "Some more than others," he muttered right before his mouth crashed down on hers.

She laughed as he rolled her back. 

***

Michael _felt_ it when she woke up, her muscles burning pleasantly, the ache of good, thorough sex lingering. She hadn't felt that in ages.

Or, she supposed, she had, she just didn't remember it. Either way, she breathed in deep and stretched, the sheets shifting around her still-naked body, a whisper of a tease. 

The movement woke Chris, whose eyes fluttered, taking her in. He smiled, eyes twinkling. "You look obscenely pleased with yourself."

Michael tucked the sheet under her arms and rolled closer to him, resting her cheek on her bicep. "Feather in your cap?"

Chris flashed a smile, but shook his head. "It's just good to see you happy." He trailed light fingers across her cheek, sending a shiver through her right down to where she was wet again. It seemed like everything he did had the same effect, her whole body responding to the tiniest thing, even his mere existence. It was incredibly distracting. 

"I feel like I'm drunk on you," she said, nudging his feet with hers just to have the contact. 

Chris' lips quirked, expression saying he understood that in a deep and real way. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Something about his tone caught her, Michael peering at him more closely. "This happened before," she guessed. 

"You really like it when things are in your control," he said, dry. She heard the corollary— _and hated it when things were out of her control_. 

"How long?" she asked, suspicious. How long would she be... _responding_ to him all the time?

Chris considered, shrugging a shoulder. "Things calmed down a notch a few months ago," he said. "Though this does bring up the question of whether that was biological or psychological."

Michael's eyes widened. Almost two years of getting turned on by every little thing?

Chris read her look, grinned, and tugged the sheet away, baring her to his hungry eyes. "Don't worry," he murmured, moving to kiss her stomach, once, twice, _lower_. "I have stamina."

***

Two orgasms and a (solo) shower later, Michael was still coasting on the afterglow, seriously considering not going out at all, just staying inside in various stages of undress all day. Tilly would understand. Spock...

Okay, she probably didn't need her baby brother knowing that much about her sex life. 

The sound of the shower tempted her, Chris on his own because if they showered together, really, they _wouldn't_ get clean. Michael toyed with the idea of interrupting anyway until she flashed to—

 _The pulsing tree, Chris' face at the center of its bud, melting away to reveal a spike, the sting in her heart_ —

The ring of the comm system _snapped_ her out of it, Michael's heart racing. _Where_ had that come from? Why wouldn't the dreams leave her alone?

The comm system rang again and Michael answered, distracted. The holographic image of Lisa Pike appeared, smiling in greeting. "Michael. You're looking well."

Michael smiled, trying not to think of the dreams...or all the sex she'd been having with Lisa's son. The emotional whiplash was...stark.

"Thank you," she said, deciding that was safest. "Unfortunately my memories still elude me."

"Yes, I have some news about that."

That caught Michael's interest. "Oh?"

"I had the Risan doctor re-run your bloodwork against the Vulcan disease database—"

Michael nodded, familiar. "The most comprehensive in the quadrant."

Lisa nodded. "Indeed. With a much larger collection to test against, we got a hit for a rare enterovirus. These kinds of viruses can get into the central nervous system, crossing the blood-brain barrier. Given that your main symptom is amnesia, I suspect we're dealing with an unusual case of viral encephalitis. I'd like you to go back to Dr. Wahani so she can scan you for micro-swelling in your brain." 

Michael's heart sped up. "I thought she scanned my intracranial pressure and found it normal."

Lisa nodded. "She did, which is a good sign, but I still want her to be more thorough. If you have pockets of micro-swelling, it might not trip up your total ICP, but it would still indicate a problem. I also want her to put you on an antiviral, just in case."

Michael nodded. "I'll go there now." She paused as something occurred to her. "If this is viral, is there any risk of transmitting it to others?"

Lisa eyed her keenly. "Why, whoever could you be transmitting it to," she said, dry. 

Michael flushed, not quite sure how to answer that. 

Thankfully Lisa chuckled and moved on. "Honestly, if there is, it's already too late. And viruses are unpredictable; what sickens one person doesn't even phase another. It's all a crapshoot based on genetics and immune systems."

"Comforting." Michael opened her mouth to ask the next question, hesitated, then shook her head. She needed to know: "If we resolve the infection, do you think my memories will come back?"

Lisa raised a hand in a familiar frustrated gesture. Chris must have gotten that from her. "I can't say. With viral encephalitis it really depends on each individual and how they respond. The virus could clear up and you could get everything back in a week. Or a month, a year, never. We just don't know. But the first goal is to make sure the virus stops attacking your brain."

Michael flinched, but nodded again, trying to school her expression. 

Lisa seemed to see right through it, sighing and looking at her frankly. "You don't have to do that, Michael. It's okay to be sad, despondent, pissed off. I'd be pissed off if I were you," she added. 

Michael actually smiled at that. Lisa Pike seemed like quite the character. "There doesn't seem to be much point."

"Emotions don't have to have points. The whole situation sucks. You're allowed to feel that. And if you don't want to admit it to my boy or your friends, you can always call and rant at me."

Michael smiled again, a little touched. "Thank you. And the others have been amazing, especially Chris."

"Eh, he turned out all right. All my doing, of course."

Michael laughed. 

Lisa smiled for a beat before her blue eyes went serious again. "I know you don't remember, and I'm sorry for it, but you two have something special. Just know that." 

In it Michael could see a mother's love—a mother's _worry_ —Lisa Pike concerned that she was going to break her son's heart. 

Michael tried to put as much reassurance into her look as she could. "I do know that and I don't treat it lightly."

Lisa nodded, her professional calm back in place. "Good. Now go do the scans, take the meds, get in touch if you have any other symptoms—nausea, dizziness, anything like that."

"Thank you."

Before Lisa could respond, the bathroom door opened, Chris exiting in a towel and nothing else that Michael could see. She smiled brightly at him, gesturing to Lisa. "So your mom's on the comm—"

Lisa cut her off with a wolf whistle. "Looking good, son."

Chris looked at her, blank-faced. " _Mother_."

"What? That's my professional medical opinion," she said, all innocence, giving her son shit apparently second-nature to her.

"How is it that _I'm_ the adult in this relationship?" he asked, long-suffering. 

"That must suck for you. Toodles." And with that, she ended the call, leaving Chris to look at Michael with sympathy. 

"I am so sorry for her."

"I want her to be my friend and not even for the embarrassing stories about you. Okay, not _only_ for the embarrassing stories," Michael amended. 

"Oh, believe me, she ain't shy with those," he grumbled. Then he frowned. "Why was she calling, anyway?"

***

The brain scan took longer this time, Dr. Wahani staring at the console intently. Finally, she looked over to Michael and Chris, smiling professionally. "Well, it looks like Dr. Pike was correct; you have several localized regions of micro-swelling in the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex. This is consistent with viral encephalitis."

Michael breathed out slowly, the diagnosis sinking in. Some niggling worry at the base of her skull settled, the voice that kept insisting how odd it was to lose just the two years. How specific it was, that it was just those memories. At least now they knew what it was.

Chris squeezed her hand, supportive, before looking to the doctor. "And you think the antiviral will help?"

"We won't know the virus is causative until we treat it, but since it's the only thing we can find that's wrong with her, it seems likely." She looked to Michael. "Your overall ICP is fine, but I'm going to give you something to reduce the swelling anyway. Hitting that and the virus at the same time should resolve it."

"But we don't know if that will cure the amnesia," she said. 

Wahani nodded, sympathy in her eyes. "We'll know more once the infection clears up. Keep the faith. There may be no permanent damage at all." _Or there could be_ , Michael heard, but she didn't voice it, nodding in thanks. 

She looked to Chris, who tilted his head in acknowledgment of her thoughts, reading her perfectly, as usual. "Whichever way it goes, we'll handle it," he reassured, low, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing her knuckles lightly. 

For once, the little pulse of heat that slipped through her was a welcome distraction. 

***

"So a virus is eating your brain," Tilly said, the little furrow between her brows the only hint that she was worried. The four of them sat at a little table on the picturesque patio, overlooking the sea, the breeze smelling sweet, everything bright and happy. 

Michael laughed, reminded again why she was profoundly grateful for Tilly's presence in her life. "That about sums it up."

Spock looked to her. "But the course of treatment should be effective," he said, his way of worrying. 

"The doctors believe so."

Spock looked over to Chris, who tilted his head reassuringly. Michael smiled at the wordless communication between them, their unshakable bond built over so many years. She was lucky to have these people.

"Whatever happens, we have no control over it. We need to enjoy ourselves," Michael said firmly, not wanting to be the thing that ruined everyone's vacation. 

"I'll drink to that," Tilly said brightly. Then she looked around. "Where are our drinks, anyway? Chris, you're falling down on the job here."

"I didn't realize my job was to be your personal waiter," he shot back, the hint of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. 

"No, it's to be Michael's. I just get the side benefits."

Michael laughed, charmed. Even Spock's lips twitched like he couldn't help himself. It raised another thing she'd been curious about, but hadn't gotten to ask.

"Talk to me about the 'Chris' thing," Michael said to Tilly. "Just how?"

"He couldn't stop me," Tilly said right as Chris answered: "I couldn't stop her."

Tilly looked to Chris, nodding emphatically. "Yes, exactly, I'm glad we're in agreement on this."

Spock's lips twitched again, like _he_ was charmed, too, but trying to hide it. "To be clear, she still calls him 'Captain Pike' on duty," he informed Michael solemnly. 

Tilly nodded. "And to be extra clear, I'm still terrified of him in that capacity." She looked to Chris, doing a little head nod salute thing: "Bravo, sir, well done on the authority of command business." She turned back to Michael. "But also, he's my best friend's boyfriend so ya know. Chris. It's a nice name."

"I'll let my mother know," Chris said, dry. 

Their waiter arrived then, bearing a tray of brightly-colored drinks. He set a tall glass down in front of Michael full of something bright aqua and suddenly she flashed to—

_Standing before an aqua tree, wind screaming through the branches, a bud unfurling, the color of blood. But it wasn't a bud, it was Chris' face and something was wrong, so wrong_

"Michael?" Chris prompted, snapping her out of it. 

"Sorry, what?" she asked, heart pounding, but hiding it, looking at their inquisitive faces innocently even as fear shivered through her, unnamable, inescapable. 

"Something wrong with your drink?" he asked, gentle, like he knew something was up but couldn't understand the contours of it. 

"You quite sure it's meant for human consumption?" she asked mildly, her heart rate coming down. The joke got a flash of a smile from Chris and a light laugh from Tilly. Spock simply watched her, alert. 

"It's a Blue Hawaiian, from Earth," Chris answered easily. "You'll like it."

"Well, you haven't led me wrong so far," she shot back, picking up the drink and toasting them. She _did_ like it, appreciating the tangy sweetness, even as her mind turned over the flash to the dream. There was something important about it. She just couldn't figure out what.

***

They all fell into a routine after that. Every morning Chris would wake her—or she would wake him—for some manner of glorious sexual exploration, the likes of which left her breathless and marveling because she honestly didn't even know her body could _feel this good_. 

At some point they'd get breakfast, stop by the medical ward for her daily hypospray, and then meet up with Spock and Tilly to spend the day. They spent one day paddle-boarding through the crystal blue bay, Chris and Spock getting into a friendly race that Michael and Tilly mocked ruthlessly because competition ruined everything. 

They spent another day hiking along the Catona Bluff and another lying on the beach at the Temtibi Lagoon just soaking in the heat of the two suns. 

And then they would return home, have a lovely dinner, and Michael would climb on top of Chris for some more glorious sexual exploration that, if she were of weaker constitution, might just make her question the nonexistence of the divine. 

And every night she would fall asleep, sated in every imaginable way, only to find herself in the grips of that nightmare, standing before a tree she couldn't escape, flashes of Chris paired with a sting that she couldn't grasp. 

***

"Excellent news," Dr. Wahani proclaimed, her voice lilting with excitement. She looked to Michael with a genuine smile. "The swelling is completely gone. The treatment worked."

Michael smiled, but she knew her heart wasn't in it, preoccupied with the flashes to the nightmare that were coming more frequently, anything aqua sending her mind to that dark place. She could barely look at the bay anymore. 

"Are you sure?" she asked, hearing the dubious note to her own voice. 

"The scans confirm it," Wahani replied, confident. "Why? Have there been any new symptoms?" Both Wahani and Chris watched her keenly, eager to help. 

Michael shook her head. "I had hoped some of my memories might come back," she offered, seeing understanding flash across both their faces and feeling a touch of guilt for the deception. Half-deception. Both things were true. 

Chris gripped her hand tighter, ever supportive, as Wahani shook her head. "They may yet. The body heals. Don't lose hope."

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor."

***

That night, when they returned home from dinner, Michael found herself caught by the windows, looking out at the luminescent aqua ring in the bay again, the pulse of it perfectly in time with the _thump thump thump_ of her heart. 

Chris came up behind her, wrapping her in his arms, his heat and scent swamping her, comforting. Michael leaned back, sighing, giving in to the tremors his hands always inspired. 

Finally, she voiced the question that had been plaguing her: "Do you ever think this is too good to be true?" 

"Hey, it's not called the pleasure planet for nothing," he rumbled in her ear. 

Michael turned in his arms, looking up at him. "Not Risa. This. Us. The life we have."

Chris shook his head and laughed. "With all the reports I have to write, I can guarantee you it has never once crossed my mind that it's too good to be true."

Michael smiled, letting him make a joke of it...but she wondered. 

***

"You are troubled," Spock intoned the next day, moving to join her at the bar where she waited for their drinks.

Michael looked over with a welcoming smile. She'd been expecting this, Spock seeming a little too quiet, a little too focused on her. 

"Wouldn't you be if you lost two years of your life?" she returned, even.

"That is not all that troubles you." Michael sighed. It was incredibly annoying how he never managed to miss anything. 

"I lost two years and woke up here, in this picture-perfect version of my life," she explained, waving a hand around them, at the gorgeous floral arrangements evenly spread throughout the bar, people laughing and drinking in the warm breeze, high on life. 

Spock stared at her. "You consider contracting a rare illness and losing your memories to be picture-perfect?" he asked like the snarky little brat he could be sometimes. 

Michael quirked her mouth to let him know that she knew what he was doing and then looked at him pointedly. "Chief Science Officer on the _Enterprise_ , Chris Pike devoted to me, doing what I love alongside my best friend and brother."

"You have built a good life for yourself," Spock said, all poking gone, eyes serious as he regarded her. 

"Have I," she said, not a question.

Spock blinked. She'd surprised him with that. Always something to relish. "You are questioning the nature of your reality," he surmised. He nodded. "You have my sympathies, sister. I, too, once questioned the nature of my reality and it was the most difficult time of my life."

"Until I saved you," she said because she couldn't resist poking him back, just a little. 

"Until I _led you_ to save me," he corrected because he never could stand to be one-upped. 

Michael smiled, loving her brother so dearly. Her smile quickly slid away. "I just don't know if you can save me this time, brother."

"What is the basis for your concern?'

"I've been having a recurring nightmare about the mission to Cantara III. In it, I wander from the group and find a tree, but it's not just any tree. It holds a flower that feels like hope, but it's a ruse to draw me in. Lately it's included flashes of Chris in a way that feels like a warning."

"You've been thinking of this nightmare during the day," Spock concluded, nodding. "I had wondered at how distractible you've become."

Michael made an amused noise. "I choose to take that as a backhanded compliment."

Spock tilted his head, but didn't engage with that. "Have you considered that your nightmare might reflect your anxiety that you've built a good life for yourself because part of you doesn't believe you should have it?"

Michael looked away, gritting her jaw. "Would it kill you to pull some punches?"

"I hardly see the point in it."

"Of course you don't." She sighed. "I had considered that."

Spock tilted his head again, dark eyes studying her. "Yet still you question."

Michael didn't quite know how to put it into words, so she felt woefully ill-prepared to have Spock's formidable intellect testing her. "A purely psychological explanation doesn't sit right."

"What leads you to this conclusion?" he pressed. 

An image flashed before her eyes, the thing that kept haunting her. "At night, in the bay, there's a ring of bioluminescent phytoplankton."

Spock nodded, but it was wary, like he didn't see the significance. "I have seen this phenomenon."

Michael shook her head. "Something about it reminds me of the nightmare. It pulses at the same rate, like it's calling to me."

"It's a biological phenomenon. It has no will. Any movement is simply due to water shifting with the tides," Spock explained like she was a child, like she should know this. And she _did_ know it. That just didn't seem to make any difference. 

Michael inclined her head. "All the same." 

"Your supposition is illogical," he concluded. 

"Thank you, Spock. This has been so very helpful," she shot back, dry. 

He ignored her sarcasm, which he hated having deployed against him. "You are not an illogical mind, therefore your mind must be made to see the illogic of its supposition."

That was...that was actually a fair idea. "Suggestions?"

"You say the phytoplankton are calling you. Answer the call. Go to them. Then you will see that they are a simple microbiotic lifeform that have nothing to do with the life you've built."

Michael turned that over in her mind, seeing the merit in it. Before she could say so, Tilly arrived, flinging herself onto the bar between them. "What is taking our drinks so long?"

Michael let herself get distracted, but at the back of her mind...she thought about it. 

***

That night, after she woke gasping from another nightmare, Chris soothing her to calmness, she lay beside him, wide awake. The nightmares weren't going away. She needed to _do_ something. 

She waited until she was sure Chris was asleep, then slipped out of bed, pulling on a fitted pair of pants and shirt. She took one last look at Chris, sheets artlessly tangled over him in bed, the moon caressing his bare skin.

Her chest clenched, a voice screaming inside to get back in bed and ignore her doubts. It was so...easy with him. Effortless and warm. Everything she wanted. 

But no, she had to know. 

So she left, closing the doors quietly behind her, picking her way down to the beach, the bioluminescent phytoplankton easy to spot in the dark of night. 

Michael toed off her shoes at the water's edge and then waded in, the water not even cold. She walked until it got too deep, then she swam, strong, precise strokes that quickly took her to the outer edge of the ring, pulsing and alive beneath her. 

She treaded water for a time, surveying the ring, moving over it. But nothing happened, no understanding dawned. 

She frowned, considering, but then she noticed that the water around her wasn't glowing. The ring was beneath her, under the surface.

And like that, she understood. She needed to go down there. 

Michael took a deep breath, then dove beneath the surface, blinking to get her bearings in the clear water, dimly lit by the nearby bioluminescence. Orienting toward it, she swam straight down. The ring got closer, but as her lungs started to protest, she realized she'd miscalculated. 

So she surfaced and breathed in for a while, controlling her oxygen intake. The distance was tricky, but doable.

Steeling herself, she took one more deep breath and dove straight and true, right to the heart of the brilliant aqua ring, the water glowing around her. 

And once Michael was there...she simply _stared_ , awestruck, her body suspended in the warmth as she took in the amorphous bioluminescence, like someone had swirled a glowing paintbrush through a glass, the paint streaks hanging heavy, never dispersing. The bright aqua ring pulsed in time with her heart, like it was part of her. 

She ran her hand through it, the water flowing over her fingers, a billion points of light dancing along her skin. It captivated her, distracting her from how her lungs were _screaming_ ; this was so much more important, her vision narrowing as her thoughts _fractured_ —

a roar in her ears—

calling to her—

merging _with_ her—

consuming—

aqua light _blinding_ —

Michael _gasped_ as she bolted upright, alarms ringing in her ears, muted by the thundering of her heart. Dr. Culber's face loomed near, saying something she couldn't hear, his white uniform almost painfully bright. Michael eyed the room wildly, at first getting only impressions—medbay— _Discovery_ uniforms—medical gown covering her—worried faces staring—

"Chris," she gasped, the only thing that made sense. 

"I'm here, Michael," he said, voice cutting across the din, and then he was, stepping to her bedside, wearing his _Discovery_ uniform.

Michael _lunged_ for him, halfway off the biobed before he caught hold of her, Michael burying her face in his chest, breathing him in. He smelled the same, but it was his _Discovery_ uniform her hands curled into, the _Discovery_ medbay and personnel around her, Culber looking to Chris with a lost, "Sir?"

Michael ignored that as she panted, a sudden onslaught of _memories_ crashing down on her— 

The mission to Cantara III, getting separated from the group, finding that tree, the sting in her heart, blood on her hands. _Her_ blood. 

It wasn't a nightmare. It _happened_. 

With that thought came a _wrenching_ sob. If that was real, then everything else—everything else—

"Michael?" Chris asked, his voice vibrating against her where she still clung to his chest. 

"What's your mom's name?" she asked, ragged and desperate, looking up to him, pleading. "I never knew that."

His gentle hands held her up, supporting her, even as he stared at her, bewildered: "Karen," he said. "Karen Pike."

Pain lanced through Michael, something inside her withering at the confirmation— _none of it was real_. 

Michael sobbed into his chest, the sheer magnitude of the loss slamming into her. Images flashed before her eyes—

_Chris handing her an umbrella drink, cocky smile in place_

_Kissing Chris in the pool, steam rising around them_

_Chris kissing her, suspended in the bright sky, flying_

_Chris dropping to his knees before her, bringing his mouth to her skin_

_Reverent fingers cupping her cheek, emotion flaring even after the sex_

Michael's whole body heaved as she cried, each loss hitting her anew. The private smiles, little gestures, sly jokes, _none of it happened_.

She felt Chris take a breath, voice vibrating through her, even as she cried into his chest: "What the hell is wrong with her?" he asked someone, voice tight. 

From nearby, Culber's voice sounded low and stressed: "Nothing, physically." 

"Can we get some privacy here?" Chris growled and suddenly the rest of the noise muted, going far away, leaving only Michael's sobs and Chris' heartbeat and his refrain: "Shhh, Michael. It's okay. You're safe. It's okay." He ran his hand along her back and it was both soothing and not, exactly how he used to touch her after her nightmares, except for how _that never happened_. 

The thought set her off again, Michael crying for all the moments they never had. They never would have. 

Eventually her sobs lessened to shuddery breaths, Michael shaking against him. Chris went to pull away—

And Michael gripped him tight. "No, please," she said, panic flaring. He couldn't leave. He couldn't... _leave_. 

"Okay, all right. Let me just—" Chris pushed himself up onto the biobed _with her_ , Michael shifting to make room, settling on his chest as he reclined, fingers still clinging to his jacket, staring at the blue and gold material. He used one hand to stroke her back again. 

Michael listened to his heart, felt his touch soothing her, his breathing moving her up and down, up and down...

Eventually the repetition quieted her racing mind, finally cutting through the tangle of grief. She sucked in a breath, reality clicking back into place. She looked out, finally clocking the opaque privacy shield around the bed, obscuring them from prying eyes and muting ambient sound. 

"You with us?" Chris asked, low, non-judgmental. He didn't stop stroking her back. 

Something in Michael trembled at that, but she held herself together. She still didn't look at him. "I'm here. The mission—something hit me..." She was sure of it now. That sting hadn't been metaphorical. 

"A Cantaran dreaming tree," he said, making Michael breathe out sharply. She'd read about those, trees with a sting that sent people into comas from which they could never wake. 

"They're native to the Cantaran home world," she protested into his chest, weak. 

"Or so we thought," he rumbled in agreement. "Best guess is some seeds came along for the ride when they built or resupplied the facility. We had no idea until the away team found you collapsed on the ground."

Michael shivered at the thought. "How long?"

"You've been under for ten days." Michael made a wounded noise, but Chris shushed her, hand still stroking her back. 

"Better that than what happens to most. The sting puts you in a dream state, acting like a euphoric, increasing every feel-good hormone and neurotransmitter possible—dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, endorphins. Like a double whammy of the best sex and the best high in the history of ever. Only downside is it kills you."

Michael huffed out a single laugh. "I'm still here."

"A credit to you. Culber thinks most people die because they don't actually _want_ to wake up. And, I mean, hell. Why would you?"

"Because it's not real," Michael said, hollow, silent tears leaking out again. 

Chris sucked in a breath, like that meant something to him. "Did you...realize that?"

Michael shook her head. "Not at first. It was ten days in paradise that felt as real as you and me lying here. The perfect fantasy," she finished dully. "Until I had doubts."

Chris made a sympathetic noise. "Your brain waves started spiking about an hour ago. You were mumbling my name, so Culber had me come down. And here we are."

Michael flushed, remembering exactly what she was doing in her...dream...that would make her call out for him. She really hoped that hadn't come through. 

"Yeah," she said, short. 

Something dinged and Michael felt Chris turn his head, reading. "If you're feeling up for it, you've got visitors."

Michael looked out to see the shapes of what could only be Spock and Tilly waiting outside the privacy shield, talking to Culber. And she did want to see them—the real them—but first—

She turned her face back into Chris' chest, closing her eyes and breathing in deep, taking in his hand on her back, his scent. Committing to memory this comfort, this safety, this... _feeling_. 

Because she'd never have it again. 

After allowing herself one moment—one precious moment—she sat up, pulling away from Chris, his hand sliding off her back as she wiped at her tears. Knowing she couldn't avoid it any longer, she looked down and met his gaze. 

Michael found sympathy in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down, tension in his jaw betraying his worry. She could still read him perfectly. 

She didn't know if that made it better or worse. 

Michael tipped her head, going for light. "Sorry about your uniform."

Chris waved that away. "Anything for a friend." 

Michael blinked at that, but Chris didn't seem to think he'd said anything unusual, sitting up and hopping off the biobed, nonchalant.

Then it hit her—she'd been _clinging to her captain_ ever since she woke up. Something _seized_ in her chest. Anyone could've seen that, which meant everyone would know. Michael felt exposed, caught out, no matter that Chris was acting like this was nothing unusual. 

Michael hadn't even _thought_ about it. Reaching for him had been instinctive, all she'd done for the last ten days...all she'd wanted to do. But it wasn't like that anymore. _They_ weren't like that. 

Before she could get too deep into those thoughts, Chris called out: "Computer, end privacy shield." The shield blinked out, letting them see Tilly squaring off against a long-suffering Culber—

"—on, she'd want to see us. Oh, thank god," Tilly said, rushing to Michael and pulling her into a hug, rocking her back and forth, clearly relieved. "I was starting to line up guys to kiss you and break the whole Sleeping Beauty act."

"That only works in fairytales," Michael laughed. 

Tilly pulled back. "You see how desperate I was. Only 12 people have ever woken up from this and most of them went crazy." She studied Michael. "Wait, you've been crying. Why crying? I'll fight someone, tell me who."

Michael shook her head, wiping her face again, smiling. "I'm so glad to see you." The real Tilly, who was exactly the same in both places, ever-loyal. 

Catching sight of Spock over Tilly's shoulder, she moved off the biobed and stepped to him, wrapping him in a hug, squeezing tight. After a beat he returned it, less intense, but real. 

Michael pulled back with a teary smile. "You saved me in there. You told me to keep looking deeper."

Spock tilted his head at that nonsensical statement. "Technically, _you_ saved you." Then he considered. "And I will remind you of this moment when you try to claim credit for my accomplishments in the future."

Michael smiled, but Tilly grabbed her hand then, pulling her focus. "So what happened? What was it like?" Both she and Spock looked at Michael expectantly. 

Michael opened her mouth, but nothing came out, no idea how to...encompass it. 

Thankfully Chris stepped in, getting their attention. "I think we should all let Michael rest."

Michael shot him a grateful look, his lips quirking in response. It took less than a second, the kind of wordless communication they'd been doing for months, and it suddenly made her _ache_ because everything felt different now. She looked away, trying to get herself under control. 

"Right, of course," Tilly said, frowning. She squeezed Michael's hand and then let her go. "I'll see you later."

"I am glad you are well, sister," Spock said, nodding solemnly, then following Tilly out. 

Chris turned to Culber. "Doctor?"

"Again, physically, she's fine." Culber directed the next part to Michael: "I know you've been asleep, but your neurochemicals are all over the place. You need to rest. I'm going to put you on a daily hypo to balance you out."

Michael nodded, appreciative. "Thank you."

Chris looked to her then, eyes soft. "Take seventy-two. Get me your report when you feel up to it."

"Yes, sir."

Chris turned to go, but then paused, looking back. "And Michael...I'm glad you're all right," he said, voice gentle. 

Michael smiled, nodding awkwardly. Chris tipped his head to both of them and then was gone. 

***

After a shower, a change of clothes, and some blissfully dreamless sleep, Michael turned to writing her report. 

It was more difficult than she'd thought, even though she was...eliding some of the details. Devoid of all emotional content, it seemed almost benign. She got stung and found herself in a Risa dream vacation. She saw some things that made her suspicious. Investigated. Snapped out of it. Simple. 

She didn't mention waking up in Chris' arms, Chris flinging the white sheet over their heads, the two of them cocooned in their own little haven, light shining through as he pressed his smiling mouth to hers—

She didn't mention a lot of things. 

But once the report was done and submitted...she had nothing to do but think. And all she could think about was the terrible sense of _loss_ that accompanied every breath. 

Michael knew that one part of it was hormonal and neurochemical, her brain depleted after so much overdrive. She knew that another part was a reaction to losing her mother, after all the revelations. But even knowing there were reasonable explanations for how she felt...she still _felt_. 

She needed to _not_. 

***

Even wary of being alone with Chris, Michael needed his permission, so she ventured to his ready room, finding him busy reviewing reports at his desk. He frowned at her appearance. "Commander. Everything all right?"

Unexpectedly, a pang of loss stabbed through Michael; he was so professional, so correct. 

But...of _course_ he was. Why wouldn't he be?

Michael stood at parade rest and stared past his shoulder, nodding. "Yes, sir. I came to ask if it would be possible to resume my duties early."

 _That_ got Chris' attention. He sat back, studying her. "You've been through a lot." It wasn't a no, but it also wasn't a yes. 

"Yes, sir, but sitting around thinking about it does no one any good. I'd like to be useful," Michael said, staring at the stars outside, his eyes on her making her want to fidget. She held perfectly still.

"Michael, I need you to look at me," he finally said, quiet. 

Michael's eyes _snapped_ to his, instantly reading the worry there as he continued: "Ensign Tilly, while colorful, wasn't wrong. You are the thirteenth person in recorded history to wake from one of these things. You don't need to rush back into the thick of it."

Michael shook her head, eyes pleading with him. "I need something to _do_."

Chris' expression softened, understanding flitting across his face. As soon as it was there, it disappeared again, back behind the professional mask. He cleared his throat. 

"You believe resuming your duties will aid in your recovery?" he asked, fully the captain now, building a bureaucratic justification for granting her request.

"Yes, sir."

"And you will let me know if it becomes too much?" His eyes pinned her down on that one; he would hold her to it. 

"Absolutely."

"Then permission granted. To your station, Commander."

Michael smiled, small, warmed at the trust in that, even if it did come in the midst of a reminder of how the Chris in her head wasn't _here_. "Thank you, sir."

***

Work helped. There were things to focus on, to occupy her mind. Mysteries of the red angel signals to study, sphere data to protect, projects that needed help. 

But work also put her in Chris' orbit, which was...hard. 

Michael found herself acutely, _viscerally_ aware of him. She'd recognized her attraction to him early, but it hadn't been...urgent. It'd just been _there_ in the back of her mind, a want that existed in concert with her respect for her captain and knowledge of her Starfleet duties. All things that could coexist. Equilibrium.

But since the dreaming tree, that careful homeostasis had shattered, Michael's instincts at war with one another. It didn't feel necessary to just let the attraction lie. It felt like she'd seen a world where she didn't have to and everything had been _better_. 

A world that wasn't _real_ , she kept reminding herself. A fairytale. 

So she...avoided the issue, hoping it might resolve with time. She didn't seek Chris out unless strictly necessary. She didn't linger at the end of briefings. She didn't offer dry observations. She did her job. 

It still felt wrong, like something was missing, even if it was a thing she'd never actually known. 

But she soldiered on. It was all she could do. 

*** 

"Your numbers are looking better," Culber said, scanning through the data on his PADD, an analysis of her hormonal and neurochemical balance. 

"Oh?" she asked, curious. She didn't feel better, nor had it gotten any easier. Every time she looked at Chris, it felt like getting stung in the heart. 

"Yes, I'm going to lower your dose. This is good news," Culber said, looking at her with encouragement. "How are you feeling?"

 _Heartbroken_ , she thought instantly. She swallowed it down. 

"I still find myself a little more emotional than usual," she offered. It was mostly true. 

"That's to be expected. This was a doozy. Just give it time," he said, patting her arm comfortingly. Then he grabbed a hypospray, adjusted some settings, and pressed it into her neck. 

The doctor in her dream had said that, too. 

***

"You realize you haven't talked about it," Tilly said that night as they got ready for bed. She gathered her red curls up into a ponytail, looking at Michael curiously. 

Michael looked up from where she sat reading on her bed. "Yes, I have," she said, hearing the defensive note to her voice. 

Tilly smiled a little, confused. "No. All you've said is that it was the perfect dream world."

"It was."

"Ten days and that's all you can say? Come on, details. Where were you? What were you doing? What is 'perfect' to Michael Burnham?"

Michael sighed, realizing she wouldn't get out of this. Tilly would keep asking until she was satisfied. She might as well rip off the bandage and offer a curated version now, while it didn't look so suspicious. 

"I was on vacation on Risa. You were there," she added with a smile.

Tilly brightened. "I am so jealous of dream-me right now. I've never been to Risa, this is so unfair. Tell me more. What was I doing? _Who_ was I doing?" 

"You were trying to do my brother," Michael shot back, dry. 

Tilly's eyes widened. " _No_."

"Oh, yes."

Then Tilly considered. "Well, I mean, he is pretty hot. In a totally terrifying way." She shook her head a little, thinking about it. "So your perfect dream was what? Officializing the little family around you?"

Michael winced, then shuttered it, focusing on the good parts, the things she could safely say. "I suppose. It was finally peaceful. Settled. All the turmoil was over. You'd gotten promoted and noticed by Louvier. Spock and I were a family again, even if he was still a little smartass."

Tilly looked at her oddly. "Wait, Louvier. He's Chief on the _Enterprise_."

Michael froze inside, realizing her mistake. She smiled, tight. "Yes, I had transferred over to work with Spock. You joined us."

"Under Captain Pike," she said, not a question, a suspicion dawning in her eyes. She really was quite perceptive. 

"That's right."

"Ships are notoriously gossipy, you know," Tilly said, studying Michael. 

"Hello, non sequitur. And yes, I'm aware." Michael had a dark suspicion where this was headed, but she wasn't about to help it get there. 

"I'm just saying, it was inevitable that one of Culber's nurses talked to someone who talked to everyone. It's kind of how these things go."

Michael shook her head. "I fail to see the relevance."

"She said you were calling for 'Chris' right before you woke up," she said, pointed. 

"They told me that, too." 

"So what was Captain Pike doing on Risa?" Tilly asked keenly. 

Against her will, Michael's eyes filled, that ever-present _loss_ sweeping through her again. "Me," she said, tremulous. She covered her face as tears slipped out, hating how this kept happening, how she couldn't get a handle on it. 

She heard Tilly move and then Michael's bed dipped as she sat down, pulling her into a hug. " _Michael_ ," she said, something startled in her voice, like she hadn't expected any of this. 

_Join the club_. 

Michael pulled her hand away from her face, leaning against Tilly's shoulder. "It's childish."

"This is why you've been so sad?" Tilly guessed, sympathy in her voice now. 

Michael straightened, looking at her in surprise, but Tilly just shot her an annoyed look. "Hey, best friend here. You think I can't tell when you're upset?"

"I thought I was hiding it," Michael said thickly. "Does everyone know?"

"No, you're actually pretty good at hiding it," Tilly admitted, clearly reluctant. "I think Pike knows something's up, though. He's been shooting you looks." And Michael had been looking away, so she hadn't caught them. 

Tilly nudged her knee, sympathetic. "Come on, spill. You and Pike were what? A couple?"

"...he'd asked me to marry him," she said dully, clocking Tilly's widened eyes. Michael scoffed a little. "Can you imagine? I've never even thought about marriage."

"No, but that's stability," Tilly said, understanding. "You and Pike, together forever. Me and Spock. All of us working on the _Enterprise_. It sounds—"

"Perfect," Michael said, voice wavering again. "And now it feels like nothing will ever measure up. That I'll never have that happiness again."

Tilly grabbed her hand and squeezed. "That's just the chemicals in your brain playing tricks on you, Michael. You can still be happy."

"I know that, but I don't _feel_ it. So I'm like this." Michael gestured to herself, teary-eyed again. "And every time I see Chris I keep wanting to reach out and touch before I remember that _we don't do that_."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should," Tilly said.

It threw Michael. She stared, not understanding. "What?"

Tilly sighed. "Look, I know you like to keep this stuff private, but you've always had a thing for Pike—"

Michael looked at Tilly askance. "You _knew_?"

Tilly gestured to herself obviously. "Again, best friend. This is getting a little insulting."

"You never said anything."

Tilly straightened, a shade defensive. "I was trying to be respectful."

Michael shook her head. "Since when do you do that?"

"Okay, fine, I thought you might be in denial and didn't want to upset the apple cart," she admitted. "But now that it's clearly upset already, you should go for it." Tilly nodded, like this was in any way a good idea. 

"Your solution is to have him break my heart for real this time," Michael said, flat. 

Tilly screwed up her face, frustrated. "That's what I'm trying to say: he likes you, too."

A pathetic flare of hope _leapt_ in Michael's chest, but she shoved it down, shaking her head. "No."

" _Yes_. With the jokes and the smiles and the pulling you aside and the deep, meaningful conversations." Tilly waved a hand as if to say _and on and on_.

"That's just wishful thinking."

"First off, there's no reason for me to be thinking wishfully. And second, do you have anything to lose? You're already," she waved to Michael, illustratively.

"Your answer is 'what's a little more humiliation?'"

"I mean, I'd phrase it nicer than that." 

Michael quieted, shaking her head. "It's not a good idea, Tilly."

Tilly took her hand again. "You're worried you won't find happiness again. The thing is, if you don't try, you're guaranteeing it. Just think about it."

***

Michael did. 

The whole next day, she thought about it, surreptitiously watching Chris as he went about his duties—making decisions, encouraging the crew, shooting worried little looks at her when he thought her attention was elsewhere. 

Something inside her _ached_ at the constant reminder that the man inside her dream was real; he just wasn't hers. Captain Pike was just as good as the Chris in her head—taking care of his people, acting honorably, kind and charming and devastatingly handsome. 

Really, that last was just unfair. 

Part of her wondered what would happen if she took Tilly's advice, if she reached out. Or was it better not to know? To let the dream go as something impossible, getting on with living in the real world.

She thought about it...and didn't know what to do.

***

"Burnham, a word?" Chris asked as the briefing broke, the others leaving for shift change, the day's work done. 

She turned back, moving to stand before his desk. "Captain?"

Chris looked behind her, making sure the others had gone before he turned his full attention to her. His blue eyes were intent, a hint of concern present. "Dr. Culber tells me you're doing better."

"My numbers have improved," she confirmed. "He thinks I'll be off the hypos in a few days."

"That's wonderful news," he said, muted, but the pleased note in his voice was genuine. He tilted his head, studying her: "So why are you avoiding me?"

Michael tensed. It was just her luck to be surrounded by so many perceptive people. "Sir?"

Chris shot her a look that called bullshit on her stall tactic, then walked to the bar cart in the corner, pouring a drink. He turned back, offering the bottle with a raised eyebrow. Michael shook her head. 

He returned with his drink, loosening his collar. "I didn't understand it at first. The cold shoulder's not like you. You're usually direct. So I read your report again," he said with a sigh. "I read between the lines." 

Chris knocked the drink back in one go...and alarms started ringing in Michael's head. Her stomach dropped out, that feeling of going into a head-on collision, but you couldn't stop. 

"They say the dreaming tree is so deadly because it gives you what you want. Your perfect fantasy," he murmured, studying his glass. He shook his head, then finally looked up at her. "You calling me 'Chris,' asking about my mother. You won't look at me..." he trailed off, huffing a bitter laugh. "It was me, wasn't it? _I_ was the fantasy," he concluded, like that hurt him.

Michael didn't understand why he felt so, but it spurred her on. There was no use in _both_ of them hurting. 

"I'm sorry," she said, solemn. "It was so..." _real_ , she wanted to say. _Good. True._

Chris closed his eyes, nodding once. Then he opened them, one side of his lips quirking, a pained thing. "Not your fault, really. Just chemicals interacting in your brain."

Dimly something _pulsed_ within her, reminded of the day in the dream, Michael watching all the personal logs, apologizing for the hurt, Chris absolving her instantly. 

Michael shook off the memory, frowning. "But it is. The dream took my attraction to you and created a world where I got to have you. A little happy family," Michael said, scoffing at herself. So childish. "I've never felt that before. Love so deep and wide, without end," she said, staring off into the distance. Then she shook herself. "I think that's why I got suspicious. That's not... _for_ me."

Staring at her, Chris' expression shattered, like the words caused physical pain. He stepped toward her, around his desk, setting his glass aside. "Michael, no."

He reached out, but then caught himself, curling his hand into a fist. "You deserve _everything_ ," he insisted, his gaze intense. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, pained. "I'm just sorry we missed our shot."

Chris turned to move away, but Michael grabbed his arm. She didn't even realize she'd done it, she was just suddenly holding him fast, staring up at him. "...what?"

He looked down to her hand, then to her face, drinking her in. "I'm sorry it ruined what we could have had," he murmured, regret heavy in his eyes. 

Michael reeled, heart suddenly pounding, all her senses alert. No. No, it couldn't be that simple.

"You...want that?" she asked, still completely thrown. 

Chris searched her face, a spark of surprise melting into something else, a new warmth blooming. "Of course." He shook his head, like he didn't understand, helpless. Beneath it some kind of secret hope grew. "But...you can't even look at me."

"Because it reminds me what I can't have," she insisted, stepping close, close enough to feel his body heat, to smell him, so dizzyingly familiar. 

Fire flickered through his expression. "You can have anything you want," he said, voice rough, flashing her back to all the sex-drenched nights with him that had never happened. Hadn't happened _yet_. 

Michael made some noise, she knew she did, but she couldn't remember what as she grabbed his jacket and hauled him close, bringing their mouths together in a desperate, yearning kiss. 

Chris curled his arm around her and pressed her to him, slanting his mouth over hers, the electric slide of mouths sending heat singing through her. Michael breathed in against him, licking at his bottom lip teasingly until he groaned and opened his mouth, the kiss becoming all-consuming and perfect— _perfect_ —because this time it was _real_. 

Michael broke away and panted against his mouth. "That was our third first kiss," she said inanely. 

His eyes twinkled, lips quirking up. "Well, I guess third time's the charm."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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